


A series of unfortunate events

by taj_mahal



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-06-21 19:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taj_mahal/pseuds/taj_mahal
Summary: A collection of hurt/comfort Fedal oneshots.Updated and extended whenever I'll come up with a new idea.[Inspiration hit - here's the result. Otherwise still finished.]More info in 1st chapter.





	1. Overview

Hello everybody - as the summary says, I'll use this one for a continued collection of Fedal oneshots.  
They will all be hurt/comfort.  
Some of them will be Gen, some will not.  
Archive warning will apply for some of them.  
It all depends on where the muse takes me :)

I'll keep this page as on overview to keep track of the oneshots already written.  
I'll also be adding a short description to what they are about, so you can more easily choose which ones to read. 

I'll gladly accept prompts and suggestions as long as they fit the general hurt/comfort tag.  
Nothing explicit or containing major character death though.

So if you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll get to it as soon as I can.

************ ************ ************

# 1 : Buried in oblivion  
(M/M, Established relationship, non canon compliant, Warnings - mentions of rape/non con;  
Roger remembers a slightly voyeuristic moment from years back. As it turns out it's a really bad memory for Rafa.)

#2 : From the mouth of babes  
(M/M, Established relationship, canon compliant, Warnings - none;  
Rafa suddenly breaks up with Roger for no apparent reason. When he finally gets a chance to confront the Spaniard, things turn out to be a lot more complicated than expected.)

#3 : I always knew  
(M/M, Established relationship, canon compliant, Warnings - none;  
Melbourne 2009; Roger tells Rafa his girlfriend is pregnant. It is not the happy news Roger had hoped for...)

#4 : Stressing out to find some peace of mind  
(M/M, Established relationship, canon compliant, Warnings - brief mentions of kissing and sex, nothing explicit;  
Indian Wells 2009; Follow up to #3 - I always knew; After almost two months, Rafa suddenly wants to be back together with Roger, the reasons for that however, are neither simple nor joyful)

#5 : A fluke of the night  
(M/M, Established relationship, canon compliant, Warnings - none;  
Melbourne 2015; After Rafa's second round match and a little health scare, Roger comes looking for the younger man to make sure he's okay...)

#6 : Seniority  
(M/M or Gen, however you want to look at it, canon compliant, Warnings - none;  
US Open 2018; the day after Rafa's 3rd round victory Roger finds the younger man in a melancholy mood, reminiscing about the past while he watches to of the Next Gen players practice. Roger tries his hardest to get Rafa out of his funk)

#7 : Decisionmaking for Dummies  
(M/M, Established relationship, canon compliant, Warnings - none;  
Shanghai/Basel 2014; Rafa has appendicitis - he and Roger don't see eye to eye on Rafa's decision making in order to deal with the illness.)

#8 : Perfect  
(M/M, Established relationship, AU, future fic, Warnings - none;  
Manacor 2020, Rafa gets married, Roger worries about the future, Ed Sheeran makes perfectly romantic wedding songs...)

#9 : Conduct unbecoming  
(M/M, Established relationship, future fic (2019), Warnings - none;  
Roger is confronted with a picture of him and Rafa kissing. He panics. Rafa pays the price...)


	2. Buried in oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the overview states this is a M/M, established relationship fic.  
> It's not canon complaint as I added a Davis Cup meeting between Spain and Switzerland in 2004 that never happened.  
> Also the mention of "the other guy" in this story is vague on purpose.   
> Story is set in February of 2019.
> 
> Warnings for mentions of rape/non con.
> 
> <>°O°<>

It was a perfectly nice, domestic February evening on the island of Mallorca and Roger couldn't have been happier with the way this day had been going. It was a Saturday and he had been here for a day now, staying until Tuesday before returning back home to his family, spending some sorely needed quality time with Rafa. The chance had presented itself and Roger had jumped at it, happy for some alone time with the other man.

After dinner and a movie, Roger had been going through some of Rafa's stuff for no particular reason whatsoever and had come up with a picture of the Spanish Davis Cup team from years back. It had to have been 2004... which meant it was 15 years old. Roger couldn't help but grin at the sight of a very young and still very baby faced Rafa in the picture. He hadn't even been an adult back then... And here they were now – 15 years later, a whole stretch older and hopefully a little wiser as well. Roger held the picture up for Rafa to see, grinning in the process.

“I remember the day that picture was taken.”

„That was a long time ago.“

„15 years almost to the date. I remember it like it was yesterday... You were so young back then...“

Of course Roger hadn't exactly been there for the photo shoot the picture came from but he remembered the occasion. It had been a Davis Cup match-up between Switzerland and Spain and the second time around he and Rafa had competed against one another. It had been another loss but after all this time and especially seeing the younger, boyish version of Rafa in this picture it was more a reminiscence than a bitter memory of a loss. The smallest of smiles was playing on the Spaniard's lips now and as expected, Rafa responded with a tease. 

„Old enough to beat you.“

„Yeah. Thanks so much for reminding me... You were also definitely old enough to enjoy yourself and knew how to celebrate.“

Rafa's face creased into a frown at the mention of fun being had at that particular Davis Cup match-up. It was kind of a strange reaction because Roger was sure the younger man remembered. Then again it was a 15 years old picture and there had been a lot of matches since then... Jogging Rafa's memory just a little, Roger continued to explain, unable to help the cheeky, teasing tone to his voice. 

„Don't tell me you don't remember? It was a couple of hours after the last match in the locker room. I had finished my post match responsibilities and was about ready to shower but I never actually got the chance because the room was otherwise occupied. There was you and that other guy. One of your teammates who was older and has long since retired. I don't remember his name. I walked right in on you two... very much enjoying each other. Seeing you two like that. I was so jealous at the time... Good thing I managed to turn that jealousy into something good...“

The reference to their relationship stayed unappreciated. Rafa's whole reaction to the mention of that particular night was kind of odd. All color seemed to have drained from the younger man's face, who's posture had suddenly turned rigid and who's breathing had picked up the pace. Roger had no idea what had triggered the reaction but one thing he knew with absolute certainty – this was bad. Dropping the picture and scooting closer to Rafa, he put a hand on the younger man's arm, trying to coax him back out of his stupor.

„Rafa? What the hell... What's wrong?!“

The moment Roger's hand touched the skin of Rafa's arm, there was an imminent and very violent reaction. Rafa flinched back from the touch, like he had been burnt, scooting away, putting distance between them and staring past Roger with wide, slightly glazed over eyes. Rafa's breathing had quickened to the point of hyperventilating. Refraining from touching the younger man again, Roger tried to do the only other thing he could think of. He tried to talk to Rafa, kept his voice soft and slow and level, hoping to get through to the younger man and pull him back and away from whatever had triggered this godawful reaction. 

„Come on, just breathe! It's okay. I'm here. You're safe... In and out, nice and slow... That's it. Just breathe through it.“

It took a long moment of repeating the mantra of in and out but finally Rafa seemed to hear him and followed through on the instructions being given to him, his breathing in sync with Roger's words and slowly but gradually calming down again. The all encompassing fear Roger had felt at the younger man's reaction slowly passed and by the time Rafa blinked once, twice and then a third time, Roger felt a tiny bit more composed. But he was still very much worried... and a little curious as to an explanation for Rafa's strange and disproportionate reaction. 

„Are you better now?“

„A little...“

„What the hell just happened there, Rafa? It was supposed to be a joke...“

There was no reproach to Roger's words but even the curiosity in them seemed to be too much for Rafa to bear. He took the longest of times to respond and when he did it wasn't exactly a well of information coming from the younger man. His voice sounded raw from an overabundance of emotion he had a very hard time keeping contained inside. Maybe it would have been better not to push, but Roger found himself morbidly fascinated. 

„It's a bad memory...“

„Bad how?“

„I... He... I tried to tell him no...“

The words didn't immediately register and Roger had to put them into context first. After Rafa's panicked reaction, he had almost forgotten what they had been talking about before. Remembering his retelling of that night in the locker room now and putting Rafa's explanation into that context, realization hit Roger like a ton of bricks. 

„Oh my god...Are you trying to tell me what I saw that day... it wasn't mutual?!“

„I really don't want to talk about this...“

Roger could understand the sentiment and hearing the defeat in Rafa's voice was almost physically painful. But as much as this had to hurt and as awful a memory as it was for Rafa, Roger couldn't simply choose to ignore it. Now that he knew, he felt a very fierce responsibility to somehow make this all better for the Spaniard. If Rafa's reaction was anything to go by, some help was desperately needed in dealing with this awful memory. 

„You don't get a say, damn it. Not after the way you just reacted. You have to tell me. What exactly happened that day?“ 

„It was stupid really. We were both happy with the victory and we had a little bit to drink with the team afterwards. I was a little bit tipsy. It was because of the emotion. It was... nothing.“

„It was not nothing. You pretty much had a panic attack right now. And how tipsy could you have been? Enough to not know if you wanted to have sex or not?! He shouldn't have done this! You were 17 years old! He had no right! You were a child!“

„Just so... It's not his fault. He was drunk.“

Hearing Rafa rationalize and defend what had happened to him send a white hot stab of raging anger through Roger. He had no comprehension for the way Rafa reacted, for the way he tried to push it all away like it wasn't even important, like the fact that it had happened a long time ago and both he and his... offender had been drinking before somehow made this okay. To Roger however nothing about this was even remotely okay. Rafa had been hurt... and nobody did that to him, not if Roger had anything to say about it. 

„What kind of an excuse is that?!“

„I didn't fight him.“

„You just admitted to being 'a little tipsy' yourself! If a little tipsy means the same thing as 'in a little bit of pain' does in your world, than you were most definitely too wasted to even think straight, let alone fight off somebody trying to force himself on you!“

“He didn't...“

Rafa was quick to deflect, to try and explain and rationalize it all away. Roger however shook his head no vehemently. He still didn't dare touch the younger man, afraid it would trigger another panicked reaction but he felt the very urgent need to make Rafa understand that he was a victim in all this... and that nothing about what had happened to him was even a litle bit okay. Roger didn't exactly get very far. It was only natural though he assumed. After 15 years of burying the memory, of defensive tactics, of rationalizing and trying to forget, Rafa certainly couldn't be expected to deal with and get over this over the course of one conversation... 

„Well that was what it looked like!“

„It was 15 years ago. It doesn't matter any more.“

„It matters if it affects you like this!“

„He doesn't even know.“

The response caught Roger completely off guard. There was no way in hell what Rafa said could be true. He himself had witnessed the scene after all. There was no way the older Spaniard – Rafa's ex teammate- simply could have forgotten what he had done... 

„How can he not know?! He was there! He...“

The words 'raped you' were on the tip of Roger's tongue and Rafa seemed acutely aware of that. He stopped the Swiss before Roger ever had a chance to say the words out loud, very obviously not wanting to hear them. It made sense... speaking them out loud would only make this whole awful mess more real... 

„Don't...“

„Okay, alright, fine. But still. How can he not know?“

„I told you. He was drunk.“

„And he claimed he didn't remember the next day?!“

„I never asked, he never talked.“

Roger actually had his mouth hanging open, gaping like a fish on dry land when Rafa explained the whole thing to him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing was actually true, couldn't believe the 17 years old, baby-faced version of Rafa that he had just teased about had simply endured what happened to him and then had proceeded to go on with his life without ever saying a word about it... The fury that grabbed a hold of Roger at the realization that Rafa's attacker had simply gotten away with it was all consuming. 

„So he could very well know and might just be feigning ignorance to protect himself?“

„No. I don't think he would do that.“

„Yes, because he's such a moral person. Forcing himself on a teenage boy...“

„It wasn't even sex...“

Roger gave a sarcastic huff at that. To him it was just semantics. He had been there that night after all. He had seen it. And had he known then what he knew now, he wouldn't have just been standing there, feeling jealous... He would have acted. He would have helped! But now he was 15 years too late... and that hurt more than the actual revelation. Allowing his swirling emotions to win the better of him, he realized too late that his revelation could only do one thing – it would deeply hurt the younger man. But the words were out before Roger could stop himself and Rafa stared at him in a way the younger man had never looked at him before, a deep rooted hurt and a sense of betrayal written all over his face. 

„It wasn't? He had effectively pinned you against that locker with his hand down your pants!“

„How do you know?“

„I...“

„You watched...“

„Rafa...“

„You watched and you didn't help...“

Roger swallowed hard, trying to make some sense of the jumbled mess in his head. As long ago as it was, the memory was suddenly there like it was happening right now. The smell of rubber and sweat, the noises of what he now knew hadn't been passion but desperation... The deep rooted jealousy and the somewhat arousing fascination he had felt at the sight he had been confronted with. Back then it had been just one little moment in time, right now the memory made him sick to his stomach and as hard as he tried his own emotions were winning the better of him, making it hard to explain his reasoning back then. 

„I didn't know what to make of it at the time... I thought you were enjoying it. As I said, I was jealous...“

„You let him do that... And you just watched.“

„I...“

Roger had no idea what else to say. Rafa wasn't wrong after all. He had watched and he had allowed for that scene in front of him to play out... He hadn't been aware of what exactly was happening at the time but there was no denying that he could have intervened. Rafa had gotten up from the couch rather abruptly now, putting a couple of steps of distance between them, accusation and disgust written all over his face now.

„Did you like it? Did you enjoy what you saw?!“

“I didn't know, okay?! I had no idea you didn't want it!”

Roger's own emotions and the accusations being thrown at him in that godawful tone to Rafa's voice made him lash out. The reaction was pretty much instantaneous. Rafa looked at him, stared at him with an unforgiving and icy cold look in his eyes and then he simply turned and left. Yelling at the younger man definitely had been entirely the wrong approach to deal with Rafa's feeling of betrayal. 

„Wait!“

But Rafa didn't listen, didn't stop and instead of doing the right thing right away and going after the younger man, Roger simply stayed where he was, hoping against hope that Rafa would cool off and come back to him... Of course it didn't happen and after about 15 minutes of just sitting there, still trying to make sense of the mess this evening had turned into, Roger decided he needed help. He called the one person he could always trust in to know what to do.

“Mirka...”

“It's past midnight, Roger. I was asleep... And I thought you were enjoying your domestic evening with a certain someone on that Mediterranean island you have grown so fond of?”

“I did. We did. But... I... I did something that was meant to be a bit of reminiscing and it royally backfired and I think I send Rafa down memory lane in a very bad way. He... he ran out on me!“

“Roger, you're not making any sense. Why don't you start at the beginning and maybe add a couple more details?”

„I'm not sure I should tell you...“

„Then how am I supposed to help?“

She had a good point and Roger had to admit she was right. After all he trusted her and she never would have betrayed that trust. He had told her about this particular memory at some point during the last couple of years anyway so it wasn't like she had no clue about it. Just like him just a couple of minutes back though, she didn't know all the facts. Now she was about to find out. 

„Remember that Davis Cup match I told you about. The one from 2004?“

„The infamous one where you decided to entertain yourself with voyeurism?“

„Turns out what I witnessed that day... It wasn't exactly mutual.“

Mirka was silent for a very long time at the other end of the line and Roger was almost sure she had either dropped the phone or had somehow managed to fall asleep on him again. But he could hear her breathing and he knew she was still there, probably having as hard a time as he did to make sense of it all. When she finally reacted her voice sounded somewhat hollow. 

„Say that again.“

„I was kind of joking about it and Rafa... he reacted to it very, very badly. It took some coaxing but he admitted it wasn't what he had wanted at the time... And somehow I ended up telling him I watched...“

„No wonder he ran out on you! How could you be so damn insensitive?!“

„You're not helping!“

Yelling at her wasn't the right way to go but at least Mirka was gracious about it and didn't tell him to cut it out. She managed to keep her emotions in check where he himself had utterly failed. Instead she did the one thing Roger hadn't been able to do – she focused on the problem at hand. 

„Where is he now?“

„I don't know...“

„You just let your emotionally distraught boyfriend run out on you after effectively forcing him to tell you that he has been sexually assaulted and admitting to the fact that you watched it happen at the time without any intervention?! How the hell could you let him get away from you like that?!“

„I... I don't...“

„Don't you dare say 'I don't know'. Go after him. Right now!“

The suggestion was simple enough and of course Roger could have come up with that himself... But having a chance to talk to somebody else about this, to hear another person'S perspective had helped calm his own jumbled emotions. Rafa hadn't returned as of yet but Roger had a certain suspicion where the younger man had disappeared to. 

The walk from the house to the marina wasn't a long one and just as he had expected Roger found Rafa at his yacht, He had settled down on the deck, his gaze intently focused on the ocean. In the darkness of the February night the usually deeply azure blue water looked black and bleak and depressing... Roger approached the younger man carefully, dropping down next to him and keeping his voice low. 

“I knew I'd find you here...”

“I like the sea... It's soothing.”

“I'm so sorry... I never should have even come up with the stupid Davis Cup match.”

“Wasn't your fault.”

Rafa had gotten over his anger and his feelings of betrayal remarkably well and quickly. But Roger knew better than to actually believe that. Rafa wasn't better and he was pretty sure he hadn't forgiven Roger either. He had simply pushed the memory back down, keeping it trapped within the darkest confines of his memory, never to return again. But things were rarely ever this simple when it came to awful memories... 

“It was my fault back then. I should have known...”

“How?”

“I don't know.”

“Nobody knows. Just me... and now you.”

„You never told... anybody? Not your teammates or your family? Nobody?“

Rafa shook his head no, that forlorn expression Roger had found him with sitting here staring at the sea still marring his face. He was somewhat surprised Rafa hadn't cut him off and demanded they wouldn't talk about it anymore. He looked utterly lost to Roger and the desire to simply hug the younger man was almost too much to bear. He didn't dare do it though, afraid what kind of a reaction it would provoke. 

„No. I was too afraid...“

“Of what?”

“I don't know. Nobody believing me. Telling me it was my fault. Telling me I deserved it because I lead him on.”

“But you didn't.”

It wasn't a question, it was a definite statement because no matter how jealous Roger had been at the time, knowing what he knew now, there was no chance in hell Rafa was in any way responsible for what had happened to him. Roger simply wished for a chance to make the younger man see that. But Rafa didn't grant it to him. 

“It doesn't matter anymore.”

“Maybe you should talk to somebody about this.”

“I talk to you.”

It was a rather crude and ineffective attempt at deflection and they both knew that. Rafa could play dumb all he wanted but he was very well aware that Roger hadn't been talking about himself when he had suggested Rafa talk to somebody about what he had gone through just there and now. Roger could be a friend, he could listen but he was in no way qualified to help. 

“I mean a doctor or a therapist. Someone with a trained medical background.”

“Why? They can't change it.”

“But maybe they can change how you feel about it. Help you deal. Help you find some closure.”

“I'm okay.”

“I don't think so.”

“This is not your decision to make. I'm okay. I know how to deal with this.”

It was blatantly obvious that Rafa had no idea how to handle this other than to bury the memory within the depths of his soul and allowing it to eat away at him from the inside out. But forcing him into doing something he didn't want to do had royally backfired just half an hour ago. Roger certainly didn't plan on making the same mistake twice in one evening. If Rafa didn't want help, he certainly wouldn't make the younger man agree. He was pretty sure he wouldn't manage that feat anyway. Rafa was too damn stubborn for that. What he could do however was to make up for his own awful misjudgment of the situation back then... by simply being there for Rafa now.

“Okay...”


	3. From the mouths of babes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously my muse always comes up with really dreadful ideas in the middle of the night.  
> Like this one right here.  
> There's a flashback in the middle indicated by '*#*'.  
> This oneshot is sort of open ended and if anyone has an idea for a resolve, I'll gladly write a follow up.  
> Unfortunately I couldn't come up with a good ending myself.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> <>°O°<>

Roger still wasn't exactly sure when, how and where things had gone so horribly wrong. The only thing he did know was that they had and that Rafa wasn't even talking to him any more. One moment everything had been fine and the next it had all turned to dust. One moment they had been out on the terrace late one night at Roger's home in Switzerland engaged in a passionate yet gentle kiss, the next Rafa had simply disappeared from his house, had gone back home without a word, had send him one single text telling him they couldn't see each other anymore and had refused to text or talk with him ever since.

But as hard as the Spaniard might have tried, he should have known better than to believe he could run and hide from Roger forever. They were bound to run into one another sooner or later. The ATP wasn't exactly gigantic and the top seeds were expected to show up at certain tournaments. Rafa had probably believed he was safe for the clay court season because Roger usually opted out of it. What the younger man had not expected was for Roger to show up at the Madrid Masters – actually less to play there and more to finally have a chance to talk to Rafa in person and get to the bottom of this whole mess that was their relationship. Because Roger refused to simply give up on it – no matter what Rafa had told him. 

The chance presented itself soon enough, the very first evening Roger was in Madrid. It was late, but not by Spanish standards, and when he had walked into the hotel restaurant of course Rafa had been there, sitting with his team. Roger had observed, had waited for the right moment and when the younger man had excused himself – presumably to go back to his room – Roger had stepped right into his way. The second Rafa had detected him, his eyes had widened and his posture stiffened. Obviously he was not pleased to see him but quite frankly Roger didn't care. They would talk about this and Rafa would explain himself – once and for all. 

“Rafa, we need to talk.”

“No.”

Rafa tried of course, tried to deflect, tried to deny Roger this long overdue conversation and even tried to walk past him and simply leave him standing there. But the one intention Roger had come here with was to not let Rafa run away from him again without a word of explanation. He would not leave the younger man alone before he knew what was going on. 

“Don't you walk away from me, damn it. No more running. Just talk to me! What the hell happened?! You just left... You left and suddenly decided you don't want me anymore?”

„I tell you before. I can't do this no more.“

„You did tell me that! What you didn't tell me was why?!“

„I can't. You have to accept.“

„No. I will not accept you simply turning your back on me and not even talking to me anymore. Not without an explanation!“

„You go back to your family, Roger. Go back to Mirka and to your children. Is where you belong.“

It was a strange thing for Rafa to say. Their situation was unique, that much was for sure. But he and Rafa and Mirka – they had always been on the same page with this. Of course it wasn't easy but his wife was a very loving, very understanding woman and she didn't mind the fact that she had to share her husband with somebody else. There certainly was enough love and affection going around for everyone involved. 

If anything had been wrong, if there had been any animosities during Rafa's last visit and Mirka would have been uncomfortable with anything, she would have told Roger. She certainly wouldn't have gone behind his back and would have said anything to Rafa that had caused his strange behavior. She knew she would have hurt Roger as well doing something like that. Which was why he still didn't get where Rafa's sudden desire to not be even near him had come from.

„I get to decided who I want to be with.“

„Is my decision too. And I decide you and I... we can't be together.“

Rafa tried to push past him again but Roger stubbornly refused to let the younger man go. They weren't done yet. He managed to catch the Spaniard by the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him from walking away. People had already started looking but Roger didn't care. Not this time. Actually it was a good thing. He knew it wasn't fair to Rafa and it wasn't nice to use this as a bargaining chip but then again the younger man hadn't exactly been nice to him these last couple of weeks either. If it took the threat of exposure to get Rafa to talk to him, then so be it!

„So help me god, I will make a scene right here and now if you do not talk to me.“

„Roger, you can't! There is people!“

„I don't care if there is people. Explain yourself, damn it.“

There was a very long, loaded silence and Roger could practically see the moment Rafa gave up on his stubborn defenses and decided to share the reason for his decision to simply run away and abandon their long term relationship without so much as a word. It was almost like somebody had drained the energy out of Rafa though. Roger could see him visibly deflate. The younger man didn't dare to look at him and his voice was so low and so thick with accent, Roger had a hard time making out the words. Roger wasn't exactly sure what to make of Rafa's explanation. It was bad, admittedly. But still he felt it was no grounds for simply running out on him like this. It was something they could have talked about. Something they could have solved together... 

„Myla. She knows. She sees us on the terrace that night when I was back at your home.“

„Before you left without a word of explanation and told me we can't be together any more? This is why? Because my daughter saw us... kiss?“

Roger couldn't help but feel completely astounded. Of course they should have been more careful and it had never been supposed to happen, but the fact that Myla had seen them couldn't have caused all this, he was sure of it. There was more to this story and of course he would not simply let it go like this. For once since they had started talking Rafa was actually freely relaying more information... and he sounded unbelievably sad and disgusted at himself doing so. 

„She not only see. She come and talk to me later. She tell me to go.“

„She told you to... And you listened? To an 11 years old girl?“

„I had to.“

*#*

After almost half an hour out in the evening breeze on the patio sharing passionate kisses, telling each other good night over and over again, Rafa had finally gone back inside and walked to his guest bedroom in a daze. He never even saw Myla before he almost walked right into her. The little girl had been right there, standing in front of the door to his guest room, her little arms crossed before her chest and the expression on her face had been absolutely murderous. A cold hard feeling of dread had settled in the pit of Rafa's stomach then and it only got worse when the girl gathered what little she had learned of the English language in school so far to tell him exactly what she had seen and what she thought of him.

„I saw you. You and Papa. You kissed...“

„Myla...“

„You don't get to kiss him! You don't get to take him away. He belongs with Mama, he belongs with us! And you can't have him! You can't destroy our family!“

The accusation hung heavily in the air, spoken with all the conviction and viciously hateful emotion only a child could manage. Myla was afraid, probably a little disturbed at what she had witnessed and with all those raw emotions she simply lashed out, speaking her mind freely, passionately and without a second thought to any consequences, never even listening to Rafa's desperate attempt to explain and apologize. 

„I never mean...“

„I hate you! I wish Papa had never met you! I wish you were dead! And I wish you would go away and never come back!“

*#*

Rafa finished his recollection of the events of that evening a couple of weeks ago without ever once looking at Roger. The older man was still staring at him, a fact Rafa had yet to acknowledge. Roger couldn't believe what he had just heard. He understood that his daughter had been angry and afraid but throwing so much awful viciousness at Rafa, that hardly seemed like her... And she had never once said anything about it to either of her parents. She had probably been upset at the time and that had caused her to lash out so harshly. Of course it was still a delicate situation but it was one they could handle... one that was not worth abandoning their relationship over. At least that was what Roger believed. Rafa however had a completely different opinion.

„She didn't mean it like that. She was angry and she didn't understand...“

„She no need to understand. She is a child. She be happy and... innocent and safe. She believe her parents are happy and together forever. I take that from her... I make her sad and afraid. I will not do it again. Never.“

The younger man had finally looked at him and Roger had hardly ever seen so much determination in Rafa's eyes. There was a clear statement to his words. He would never hurt Myla or any of Roger's children in that way ever again and if that meant they had to break up and be miserable than that was the way things would go. Roger had been too stunned to stop Rafa a second time and this time the younger man had slipped away... 

Roger had returned to his own hotel room in a daze and of course Mrika – who had come with him – had both been curious and concerned about him, wanting to find out how things had gone between him and Rafa. Roger had relayed the whole story to her and in the end she had looked just as much at a loss as to how to handle this than he felt. They tried to come up with a solution but it was not exactly an easy task to achieve.

„We could try and explain it to her...“

„How do you explain the concept of an open marriage to an 11 years old?“

„I have no idea... What I do know is that I don't want to lose Rafa because of one careless moment and the fact that our daughter saw something she shouldn't have seen. You should have seen him... He was devastated knowing he caused her pain.“

Mirka had nodded at that, showing a lot more sympathy towards Rafa than Roger had been able to come up with. Then again his wife wasn't as emotionally invested. She was easier able to keep a level head. What she didn't have for him though, was a useful solution.

„It's only natural, Roger. His own parents split up. How do you think he feels about having somebody else's child believe he is the reason for a potential break-up of their parents.“

„But we won't break up. And Myla will keep both her parents. There is no harm done... The only one hurt over this is Rafa. And he keeps on punishing himself and makes me miserable as well in the process. And I just won't accept that.“

“What do you propose we do then? Ignore our daughter's fears? Tell her everything is okay? Force Rafa to come back to you? What, Roger? What exactly is it you want to do?”

“I have no damn idea...”


	4. I always knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another variation of Rafa not wanting to be in the way of Roger's family.  
> Seems to be a theme for me :P  
> I'm not too happy with this instalment.
> 
> Hope you like it anyway
> 
> <>°O°<>

_Siempre he sabido que tus besos matan,  
Que tus promesas riman con dolor_

__

__

_(I've always known that your kisses kill  
That your promises rhyme with pain)_

 

Melbourne – 2009

Roger had contemplated long and hard which venue and time would be the best to tell Rafa the exciting and life-changing news he had. He could have chosen a more public venue or an earlier time of day, but late in the evening – or more precisely already into the night as it was a couple of minutes past eleven pm already – and at the younger man's hotel room had seemed prudent to him. At least this way they could talk in private and hopefully share the joy about the news... Still Roger felt nervous about this. It was a big change – more for him than for Rafa – and he still had a hard time actually believing in this new reality that was his life now.

Knocking on the hotel room door to Rafa's room, it took a little while before Rafa opened the door on him. The younger man was in a set of casual clothes and he looked a little bit sleepy. Maybe Roger had woken him but he highly doubted that. Rafa had probably been on the couch and had dozed off or something. Either way Roger gave him a smile.

“Can I come in?”

Rafa nodded after a short moment of contemplation that had managed to irritate Roger. Usually the younger man was a lot happier to see him... even at this hour of the day. Then again they hadn't spend much time together these last couple of weeks. There simply had been no chance for that on Roger's end. Stepping into the room after Rafa opened the door for him, he could hear the reproach in the younger man's voice as he closed the door and leaned against it. Roger could feel Rafa's eyes on his back and turned around to face him. 

“I haven't seen you for a while...”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Did I... do something?”

“No. God no... It's just... Well... I've been sort of busy...”

“With what?”

“Tennis. Life. Family.”

Rafa frowned at the vague explanation but didn't say anything in return. The rather cold welcome he had received and the way Rafa was still standing by the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his gaze intently fixed on Roger, the Swiss felt even more apprehensive then before. The right words simply wouldn't come to him, as hard as he tried. He was simply nervous, though there was no need for it... not really. 

“Look, there's something I need to tell you, something you need to know. It's great news, actually And it doesn't change anything. I just needed time to wrap my head around it and to talk to Mirka and decide what this means for us... I mean her and me... And you and me of course.”

“I don't understand.”

Confusion had mixed with the otherwise neutral expression on Rafa's face and Roger couldn't exactly blame him. He had mostly been rambling without making much of any sense and that was before considering the fact that there was a language barrier. After all neither of them was using their native tongue. Roger took a deep breath, finally revealing the news he had come to tell Rafa about. 

„She's pregnant.“

„What?“

„Mirka. She's pregnant. With twins.“

Rafa's reaction was not at all what Roger had expected. There was no joy, no excitement, no elation. Actually it was quite the opposite. The younger man looked saddened at the news. He was muttering something under his breath that was most definitely not English and that Roger didn't understand. Asking him about it Rafa's demeanor changed all of a sudden. The smile he plastered on his face looked so obviously fake and strained it was painful to look at. 

„Siempre he sabido...“

„Rafa?“

„No worries. I' fine. I'm very happy for you. Tell Mirka congratulations from me.“

“That.... that's it?”

“I'm sorry. Congratulations to you too of course.”

Rafa had finally taken a few halting steps away from the door and towards him to extend a hand for Roger to shake... Rafa was actually congratulating him on the news that he would be a father for the first time with a damn handshake! Roger stared at the outstretched appendage in disbelief before looking the younger man in the eyes again, confusion and a certain amount of anger clearly audible in his voice. Obviously he sounded harsher than he had intended because Rafa pulled his hand back like he had been burned all of a sudden. 

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Telling you I'm happy for you.”

“You don't sound happy!”

“I'm sorry.”

It was the second time within less than a minute Rafa had apologized to him now and Roger slowly but gradually was losing his temper. This had been supposed to be a celebratory moment after all! He had no idea what had gotten into the younger man but he refused to let his happiness be ruined by it and he also refused to simply ignore the way Rafa was handling the news. Something was wrong here and Roger wanted to know what it was. 

“Stop apologizing, damn it! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Nothing. I'm fine. I'm happy. You'll have a family. That is... great.”

“I know that it's great.”

“I think you should go. Be with Mirka. She needs you now, no? It's a big change.”

Roger needed a moment to realize Rafa had just told him to leave, still focused on the fact that the Spaniard was talking about changes that would not come to pass for at least another six months. It wasn't like there was any urgency to Mirka's pregnancy. When he confronted Rafa, the younger man denied that he wanted Roger to go at first, only to repeat the plea a couple of sentences later. 

“Yes it will be. But not for another couple of months. Did you... are you throwing me out?!”

“No.”

“What then?!”

“I just... I think it's better you go now.”

Roger was at a complete loss as to what had gone so horribly wrong in this conversation that Rafa was throwing him out of his hotel room after reacting to the news of Mirka's pregnancy like Roger had just told him somebody had died. He had no idea what Rafa's problem was and so far the younger man refused to tell him. But Roger wasn't willing to let it go without a fight. Rafa very clearly had decided to not only throw him out of his hotel room but out of his life entirely and Roger certainly wouldn't allow that to happen. Not if he had any say in it!

“No! I want an explanation! You don't get to dump me just like that.”

“I'm not...”

“That's what it sounds like!”

“You will be a father, Roger.”

“I'm aware. So?!”

“What we do? What we have? It has to stop.”

Finally Rafa had been fully and brutally honest with him and right there and then Roger wished he hadn't. Hearing it so clearly, having his heart and their relationship broken like this... It hurt – more than he ever could put into words. And it made absolutely no sense. Nothing had changed. He and Mirka had discussed it, his girlfriend was still okay with the way things were going but for some reason Rafa refused to see that. 

“Why on earth would you say that?! You know Mirka is okay with it...”

“There will be children.”

“Yes!”

“I will not be in the way of that.”

Roger managed no verbal reaction at first but only gaped at Rafa. The Spaniard's words still made absolutely no sense to him. He had just told Rafa that the pregnancy and the growing of his family didn't change anything for Roger... or for Mirka. He had no idea why the Spaniard was being so damn difficult about it all. It was a change, that much was for sure, but it was a good change and Roger had hoped they would all be happy about it – him, his girlfriend AND Rafa.

“I don't get it... What are you even worried about?! It's not like we make out for all the world to see. We're always careful...”

“What if they ask why their father sneaks out of the hotel room in the middle of the night? Why he spends so much time with another man instead of their mother? Why he smiles that much every time they meet? How do you explain? Do you lie to them? Do you tell the truth? You cannot do either. It's wrong. They are children. They are innocent and they should stay that way for as long as possible. I will not risk that.”

Roger had no answer to Rafa's questions and now he actually understood where the younger man was coming from. Still he couldn't comprehend that the Spaniard was willing to throw away more than three and a half years of a relationship because there might be a nosy question of one of the kids that were yet to be born to arise in the future. After all Roger would not be a father exclusively in the future either. He would continue to play tennis and he would continue to see Rafa... or at least that had been Roger's plan. 

“What about what I want?!”

“Doesn't matter. Family comes first. Always.”

There was more determination to Rafa's voice than even before and it was such a... typical thing for the Spaniard to say. To him there was barely anything that mattered more than the stability and love of family. It wasn't like Roger felt that different about it but he certainly didn't put that much emphasis on it. The realization that no matter what he said from here on out, he wouldn't be able to convince Rafa, was a sudden one... and a sad one. 

“This... this is your last word on the matter, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay... I... I guess I should... go.”

“Yes.”

Roger waited for just one tiny moment longer, waited for Rafa to change his mind, to stop him, to tell him it had all been a giant misunderstanding and for them to celebrate the happy news... But it didn't happen. Roger hid back a frustrated groan when he put one foot in front of the other to get back to the door. It wasn't until his hand was already on the door know when Rafa stopped him once more, giving him an ounce of hope only to destroy it again right away. 

“Roger?”

“Yes?”

“You don't lose me today. You win a family.”

There was a soft sad smile on Rafa's face but neither that nor the Spaniard's words did much of anything to make Roger feel any better. He opened the door, gave Rafa one last long look and slipped outside, finally allowing that guttural sound he had pushed to the back of his throat to escape. He would not come back here... or to any other hotel room Rafa would occupy in the future. They were history... once and for all it seemed. Roger doubted he was the only feeling devastated about that turn of events. Unfortunately it didn't change anything.


	5. Stressing out to find some peace of mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow up to the previous instalment "I always knew"  
> Realizing in which timeframe I had put the story, I decided to take a different approach in resolving the issue between Rafa and Roger.  
> I might do a third instalment in which they actually have 'the talk' mentioned at the end of this oneshot.
> 
> It turned out rather long and it's unbetaed.
> 
> Hope you like it
> 
> <>°O°<>

*Indian Wells – 2009*

 

It's March before they see each other again and Roger has had a lot of time to think. Mostly about how much of an idiot he has been and that maybe it might not be the worst of all ideas to find a quite moment to apologize to Rafa and tell him that he understands his reasoning. He doesn't like it but he understands. 

It has taken exactly one condescending look from Mirka to make him realize that particular fact. Returning from Rafa's hotel room that day in Australia, he had still been fuming with anger. Relaying the whole story to her had not turned out the way Roger had expected it to. Mirka had not been on his side, had not understood his anger and had told him he was an idiot. It was actually the only thing she had said about the whole matter – 'Roger, you're an idiot'. 

Everything has fallen into place from there on out for him. His wife is right of course and coming to her to bitch about the fact that Rafa has put family first where Roger clearly hasn't been able to do the same has not been his brightest idea. She hadn't been angry with him, had been remarkably understanding and had assured him that maybe his feelings would stay the same but his opinions would change once he had a little more time to get used to the fact that he would be a father and they would be a family.

She has been exactly right of course. It's unsettling sometimes how easily Mirka can do that. Sometimes it feels like she can predict the damn future... It had been the first doctor's appointment and the first ultrasound pictures he had been there for to witness that had changed the way he felt about what was to come. And he had realized there and then, that not only Mirka had been the one who was right. Rafa was too. Putting family first – even if it hurt – was a good thing. 

He still misses Rafa of course, misses what they had together and he knows all too well that if he will be tempted, his resolve will slip... After all they aren't a family yet and knowing what he had those past three and a half years, knowing how much he had enjoyed it and how much he missed it now that sometimes it almost physically hurt, there is no way he will pass up on another chance. He is sure there will not be one. Rafa's decision had been final – he had been clear on that. 

So when they do see each other in March – and Roger is set on respecting Rafa's decision and actually ready to congratulate him on his insight and apologize for his own pigheadedness – he's all the more surprised when everything is suddenly back to normal. Or some very strange, passionate, almost animalistic version of normal. It all starts innocently enough. Rafa shows up at his hotel room on Saturday night before the tournament even starts and Roger is surprised to see him.

He doesn't even get a chance to say so much as 'Hello' or ask why the younger man has come, because the last time they had met Rafa had been very clear on the fact that they would not be seeing each other again. Not in this capacity at least – not as lovers... only as friends... Of course he hadn't said it in that many words but Roger had been quick on the uptake. Or so he has thought. Because right here and now, the moment he opens the door on the Spaniard, Rafa's hands press against his chest and he is pushed back into his own room with a force and determination he has not expected after how their last meeting has gone. 

The door hasn't fully fallen closed behind them when Rafa suddenly leans in. They kiss – sloppily, urgently and it's all force and determination on Rafa's part. Roger himself is too dumbfounded to do much of anything but let his eyes fall close and revel in the feeling of the other man's lips on his again after weeks of separation and radio silence. It's not a gentle kiss, actually it's almost bruising the way they crush together and Rafa presses forward like his life depends on it... They are both panting when they break apart and it is only now that Rafa actually inquires after any other possible inhabitant of the hotel suite. It takes a moment before that little fact sinks in for Roger. Rafa cannot possibly have known Roger would be alone. He couldn't have been sure and it seems he didn't care anyway... 

“You alone?”

“Yeah... Yes. Mirka is out to dinner with a friend. She will be back in about an hour or so...”

“Good.”

Roger hasn't fully grasped what Rafa is referring to, when the Spaniard already has a firm and not too gentle grip on his wrist. Roger is pulled along rather forcefully and almost stumbles over his own feet as Rafa forces him along, right to the bedroom of the suite. Roger swallows at that.   
They have never done this before. Not in his room. It's always Rafa's room because Roger shares his and Rafa doesn't. This is as much Mirka's room as it is Roger's and above all it is her bed as   
well... But yet again Rafa doesn't seem to care. Rafa doesn't let go before the bedroom door is closed and locked and when he does, there is a hunger in his gaze, that is downright scary. 

“Fuck me.”

Rafa's voice is low and husky but his words are not endearing, adorable, lovable, sexy or any of the other things Roger usually associates with the question. Normally there is a quiet, almost shy plea following the forthright words. But even that is different this time. Rafa doesn't ask him or plead with him to do this. He demands it and it seems there is little room for argument or negotiation. As expected, the one thing Roger knows that will happen if he is ever tempted again, does happen right then. He nods.

“Okay.”

Usually they like to take things at a certain pace and that includes watching each other for the longest of times – getting undressed, getting prepared, teasing each other until they can't take it anymore. But even that is different this time. Rafa is out of his shirt and already in the process of stripping down to his underwear by the time Roger has finished his one word and obviously he himself isn't acting on the incentive quickly enough. 

Rafa is there, pouncing on him like he is prey... and obviously things can't go fast enough for him. That grim determination is still there and it causes the younger man to be a lot rougher and way more impatient than he would usually be. Roger feels the fabric of his shirt scrape across his arms and back as the Spaniard pulls the offending piece of clothing off of him. Roger still is pretty much shocked by what is happening here.

Arousal is a problem until the moment Rafa slips out of his underwear and is gloriously naked and sprawled out on the bed seconds later, giving Roger an impatient look. It doesn't need words. The Swiss knows what is expected of him. There is barely any teasing and little to no preparation but it seems it's exactly what Rafa wants from him. He is impatient to the point of being irritated by the fact that Roger wants to take things at a slower pace. 

That glorious moment of first physical contact, of the actual love making is familiar and completely strange and different at the same time. They know each other, inside and out and they fall into it with an ease of years of experience. But at the same time it's all new and not in a good way. There is a desperation to everything Rafa does – from the way he moves, to the sounds he makes – that makes it almost impossible to enjoy what they share. Sure it is hot and arousing and breathtaking but apart from the physical side of it, the feeling is just all wrong... It tugs at Roger's heart and makes it impossible to let himself be completely free of his apprehension. 

When they are done – and Roger finds no other way to put it – because he is spent but he definitely doesn't feel satisfied, they lie next to each other, panting and glistening with sweat. It doesn't last though. Would this be Rafa's room, they would talk and tease each other with stupid jokes now, they would hug, maybe fall asleep like that or get to the shower together and start the whole routine back up again. None of that happens though. Instead Rafa sits up less than a minute after and starts fishing for his clothes, not even looking at Roger when he talks. 

“I go, no? Before Mirka comes back...”

“Yeah that... that's probably a good idea...”

Roger knows he should stop the younger man, he should get him to talk to him, tell him what the hell this was all about. But he is too exhausted and the fact that Mirka will be back soon and he needs to get housekeeping in here to change the sheets before she does, lingers in the back of his mind. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths and by the time he looks up again, Rafa is already back in his shorts and pulling his shirt back on. He gives Roger a small wave in goodbye and leaves without so much as another word. Roger is left to stay and stare after him. He never gets a chance to ask any questions and quite frankly, in that moment, he really doesn't care. 

*#*#*

It’s not until the next day when Roger overhears a piece of conversation that the thought of the strangeness of that encounter with Rafa returns to him. Something is seriously off about the Spaniard it seems and whatever it is, it has obviously effected his decision making. The conversation he eavesdrops on is held a couple of tables down in the player's restaurant. The conversation between the two fellow players a couple of tables down is held in English and they act like a couple of fishwives exchanging gossip. Roger doesn't like it but he can't help to listen in on it anyway because the topic of their conversation is Rafa and quite obviously his odd behavior doesn't pertain to late night visits and desperate love making... 

„It's like a blizzard out there...“

„What do you mean?“

„Nadal. He was out there on the practice court next to us and I swear to you if looks could kill, the whole damn team around him would have gone up in flames. It was like it wasn't even him. He's such a nice, easy-going guy usually... Almost shy. But that...”

“What the hell happened?”

„He had a spat with his physio and pretty much just left him standing there afterwards, turning his back on the man while he was still in the middle of an answer. I don't think I've ever seen him like that. It was... painful to watch.“

A few tables down, Roger balls his hands into fists and isn't even aware he is doing it until his fingernails dig into his palms and his hands hurt from the strain. Relaxing them again takes a conscious effort. Obviously Roger isn't the only one Rafa acts strange and impatient and very grim around... He knows the Spaniard's relationship with the members of his team well enough to know that they argue – sometimes heatedly – but that they don't yell at each other for no reason and they certainly don't simply walk out on one another in the middle of a conversation... Whatever it is that made Rafa show up at Roger's suite last night, it affects more than just his urge for some mindless and rather rough sex... And that is a disconcerting thought to say the least.

Roger knows it isn't exactly any of his business. Wasn't before – at least not when it comes to the professional side of Rafa's life – and certainly isn't now anymore. They aren't together like that any more. But deep down, Roger knows he can't walk away from this. He cares and above all he wants to know what the hell is going on here – for his sake as much as Rafa's. The only people he can ask are the ones that are as directly involved as he is. Which means talking to Rafa's team... The though lingers for a moment and somewhere in the back of his head Roger can hear a scolding voice that sounds remarkably like Mirka's. 'Don't be a coward. Just talk to him directly.'

It's sound advice and Roger decides it's the best way to go. Probably the only way. After all Rafa is the one who started all of this back up again. He came to Roger and in return the older man feels an explanation is the least he can expect of the Spaniard. Not right now though. Right now he has practice and sponsorship responsibilities. He will get to it tonight. Staying at the same hotel, he is bound to run into Rafa at some point. Tonight at dinner is soon enough... 

*#*#*

Things don't exactly go according to plan. Roger decides on a very late dinner – much to Mirka's dismay who orders room service halfway through but is understanding of his plight. Of course she doesn't like the fact that sex has been had in the bed she and her husband share but she acknowledges there is something off and definitely wrong with Rafa by the fact alone that he came here and demanded they keep going even though he perfectly knew Mirka could walk in on them at any minute... 

She is worried, less so than Roger but still worried, and she encourages his attempt for a cleansing talk. Roger has decided to approach Rafa at dinner. The hotel dining room is as good a place as any and Rafa can't yell at him or walk out on him without making a scene there. He will have to talk to Roger. Unfortunately his nicely laid out plans go up in flames the moment he steps into the dining hall by 9:30 pm. Rafa's team is there – his uncle, his physio, his media manager and a couple of other people Roger can't place right away. But Rafa isn't with them.

That in itself is strange and alarming enough but looking at the group of people now is even worse. They all have the same grimness about themselves as Rafa does and they look just as worried and disconcerted as Roger had felt when he had overheard that conversation earlier today. Quite obviously he isn't the only one aware of Rafa's odd behavior. And he isn't the only one who cares. For a supportive team the group looks remarkably like a war council.

Approaching the table takes a conscious effort and it's even harder to plaster a smile on his face and keep his tone of voice purposefully light. Roger doesn't want to come across as nosy – or worse – desperate. But he needs somebody who can tell him what the hell is going on. For right now he will settle on an answer to the question where Rafa has disappeared to. Walking up to the table, he tries to look as inconspicuous as possible. He's sure he's failing miserably. 

„Looks like you're short a member...“

„Rafa preferred to have room service.“

“Oh... okay... Do you think it would be okay if I went and...”

“212.”

The response Raf's uncle gives to him is short, clipped and there is a certain reluctance to it, but it provides Roger with all the information he needs. He has a room number now and that is all he wanted anyway. It gives him a chance to talk to Rafa in private and hopefully that will help clear the air between them... 

Roger opts out of taking the elevator back up to the floor where Rafa's room is. He could have of course but the physical exertion of taking the steps helps to clear his mind a little. Rafa's team is worried about him, other players have picked up on his oddities and awful mood and somehow through it all, Roger has not asked a single question to the younger man as of yet. He will remedy that – right now. And they will talk. About Melbourne, about last night and about the future…

Reaching the right floor and the right room, there’s a reply to Roger's knock and it’s short and sharp and most definitely Mallorquin. Obviously Rafa expected one of his team members to check on him and he doesn’t want them to. Roger can only guess but he half assumes Rafa has just hurled a profanity at him and that just doesn’t sound like something he would usually do… especially not with the people he trust and who built the inner core of his support system. It’s not that they never fight or argue, Roger knows that first hand. But even then it usually stays civil and productive. Rafa’s reaction is most definitely neither of those things. Maybe the fact that it's him will help sway the younger man.  
   
“Rafa, it’s Roger. Can I come in?”

For the longest of moments there is no reaction and Roger is almost sure he is being ignored. When the door is opened on him after almost a full minute, it takes him by surprise. Rafa is not happy to see him. There is no real greeting, no friendly word or so much as an inquiry into Roger's reason for being here. Above all there is no smile, not even the slightest sign of sympathy or interest. It seems Rafa doesn't even want to talk to him... Finally the empty look is replaced by something that is probably supposed to be either cheeky or flirtatious but comes across as predatory instead.   
   
“Roger... Last night not enough for you?”  
   
“I didn’t come here for that.”  
   
For a moment there Rafa looks disappointed before the expression melts away and makes room for irritation instead. Roger is almost sure the Spaniard is about to simply close the door in him. Sex would have been welcome. Anything else is not apparently, especially if it involves talking. But Roger refuses to be turned away and left in the dark for much longer. He wants answers, he wants Rafa to tell him what is wrong and he wants a more certain outlook into the future. He tries to keep his voice firm, but gentle.

“We need to talk.”

Rafa gives a sound that is somewhere between a sigh and a groan and that is very uncharacteristic for him. He's usually a lot more polite and guarded with showing his emotions like that. But Roger decides not to allow this to deter him. Not waiting for Rafa to finally invite him in and stop them being exposed to the public eye like this with Rafa in the frame of the door and Roger still outside on the corridor, he pushes past the younger man and into the room. 

The hotel room is the usual chaos he is used to with Rafa. But even here there is an edge to the chaos, a strangeness to the way things are that Roger can't quite shake. He can start with that, can try to get Rafa to explain to him what has changed, what has him so worked up he suddenly acts like a whole different person but instead Roger decides to pick up where their last conversation dropped off. He knows he is making this about him more than he is making it about Rafa and that he is being selfish again. But it's a measured decision. At least with his own words, he knows where to go and what to expect. Or at least that is what he thinks.   
   
“I should have come to talk to you sooner, I know that now... I was selfish and I didn't listen. But I had time and I thought about it for a whole long while and… you were right. This isn’t about just me anymore. I will be a father, I will have children and I want to protect them. I need to think of my family first. Just like you said.”  
   
Rafa snorts at that and not in a humorous way. The expression on his face is so full of disdain it’s hard not to physically recoil from it. Roger can make no sense of it. Family has always been the pillar and foundation to ground Rafa and suddenly, it seems, he can’t care less about it. Realization dawns on Roger that it is probably one of the reasons for the younger man's odd behavior, the reason he changed his mind about the innocence of Roger's yet to be born children and the selfishness he displayed in returning to Roger last night. Roger searches for an answer in Rafa's face but his expression is utterly unreadable. He has to try with words instead.   
   
“What? What is it?”  
   
“Family…”  
   
Raf practically spits the word at Roger, like it’s something disgusting and awful all of a sudden, not something to be cherished and this time Roger can't help the physical reaction. He takes a step back at the venom dripping from Rafa's voice. There is a fire in the younger man's eyes that is scary to look at and if at all possible his voice is even darker and sharper when he continues on spewing more of the venomous words in Roger's direction.   
   
“Family lies. Family leaves you. Family betrays you and destroys everything you hold dear. That’s what family does.”  
   
“What on earth has gotten into you?!”

Roger never gets an answer to his question. Rafa doesn't even deflect or shrug or comes up with a lame lie. He simply acts like Roger has never even asked the question in the first place. Instead he goes back to his previous question like the whole conversation – or rather Roger's monologue – in between hasn't happened. 

“You want sex now or not?”

“No! I told you, it's not what I came here for. Didn't you listen to anything I said?! I agree with you. This isn't about you and me anymore. There's more to consider...”

„I don't care.“

„You don't... That's a joke right? You were so damn determined back in Melbourne. You were willing to hurt us both in order to make sure I did the right thing and decided on putting my family before you. And now that I have, you don't care anymore?! That's insane! It's just not you.“

This time Rafa shrugs and it is probably the worst thing he can do. Roger has poured all of his heart and conviction into his little outburst and Rafa can't even be bothered to see any reason in it. Roger can't remember a single time before he has ever seen the younger man so clipped and cold and uncaring to the point it seems he's utterly oblivious to Roger's emotions. Usually there is a lot more empathy and care and understanding. But Rafa is void of all of that... It's like talking to a complete stranger and that is – inevitably – what brings their conversation to a close and leaves the situation unresolved.

“I do NOT care about your family. Or any family for that matter. So you can fuck me or you can go.”

“I'll go.”

*#*#*

Roger hasn't slept well. While his wife is peacefully sleeping next to him, his mind keeps wandering back to that awful conversation with Rafa and to the way it has ended. The things the younger man had said – about family and about not caring... It simply will not stop bothering Roger and the question still remains what exactly has Rafa so worked up he suddenly acts all out of sorts. It is around 3 am when Roger finally falls asleep, a plan made up for the next day. He will talk to Rafa's team again... and this time he will not leave until he has his answers. 

With his sleep pattern disrupted and himself feeling cranky because of that, it's probably not the best match-up to talk to Rafa's team again. Roger decides to do it anyway. He finds them at breakfast – though it's only Rafa's uncle and physio still at the table when Roger enters the dining hall again, where complementary continental breakfast is served as well. They are deep in conversation, that same grim look on their faces as last night and once again Roger feels apprehensive approaching the table. But this time his determination wins the better of him and he cuts straight to the point, no pleasantries and no distractions this time.

„I went and talked to Rafa last night. I don't want to relay everything he said, because quite frankly it's none of your business but let's just say that it went bad and that he acted appallingly. So why aren't you just open and honest with me? What is wrong with him?!“ 

„He's having a hard time at the moment.“

„So I've noticed! Just tell me what's wrong. Please?”

Neither his open honesty nor his plea get Roger anywhere but then again it's exactly the reaction he has expected from Toni Nadal. The man is stubborn and loyal and fiercely protective of his nephew and under normal circumstances none of this character traits can be considered as flaws. But with the special circumstances they're dealing with right now, they're not just flaws, they're downright infuriating... Being stonewalled like this isn't helping the team, it isn't helping Roger and above all it isn't helping Rafa. It's for the younger man's uncle to see that now... and hopefully act on it as well. 

“It's for Rafa to tell you.”

“But he doesn't talk to me. And as a matter of fact it doesn't look like he's talking to you guys much either. All we get are cold looks or sharp words. It's just not like him. You're all worried, I'm worried. Just tell me what I can do to make this better...”

“Nothing.”

Roger frowns at that and finds himself at a loss for words for the longest of moments. Whatever it is that put Rafa in that godawful mood and made him so damn offensive in his demeanor, there has to be something that can be done about it to make him feel better and get out of his damn funk again. There is never nothing that can be done to resolve a situation. Roger knows that and he is very much sure that Toni knows that too. 

“How can there be nothing to be done?!”

“It's a family matter, Roger. Keep out of it.”

“What did you do?!”

“It's not me he's angry with!”

Obviously he is getting rather good at mimicking Rafa's cold stare and being even more successful at it, because while Toni still holds his gaze and is stubbornly clinging to keeping his knowledge to himself, it's Rafa's physio who finally relents, obviously more than just a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He drops his head, his gaze falling to the ground and his voice so low, Roger has a hard time making out the words. The fact that Toni next to the younger man hisses at the words and swears under his breath, doesn't make it any easier. But the piece of information Roger has been missing is there now – clear as day. 

“It's his parents. They're separating.”

Roger needs a long moment to file that piece of news away and for his mind to grasp the enormity of it. Suddenly it all makes sense. The desperation that has been so palpable in their physical contact, the coldness to Rafa's behavior, his adamant refusal to talk about anything of substance with Roger and the venom and disdain in his voice and expression when talking about family. No wonder he no longer cares whether or not them being together has any impact on Roger's future family... 

Family leaves you. That have been Rafa's exact words last night... Why should he care if this is how he felt. Why care for Mirka and the yet unborn children... In his mind the concept of family has suddenly lost all it's substance and sanctity. More than two decades of a marriage, of being a family has simply been wiped away because a decision has been made that the younger man hasn't been asked about or been considered in... If it happens to other people, to solid, long-term relationships... what is the point in being miserable to protect another family that is just as destined to fall and crash and burn... Roger feels his mouth run dry, at a loss for what to say or do next. 

All he knows is that things can't stay the way they are... But he also knows Rafa will not listen to him – not right now, not while everything he feels at the moment is fury and disappointment and betrayal... This is not a conversation to be had while the dominating emotion towards any family life Rafa has is disgust and hatred and probably half a dozen other negative things... But it is not a conversation to avoid either. Roger is at an impasse, that much is clear to him. Rafa doesn't want to talk about this, hasn't even wanted him to know and going to him, telling him he has found out what is eating at him, will probably make matters worse. He needs to come up with a different idea, a different approach. Unfortunately he has no idea how...

*#*#*

Mirka has been his savior yet again. She has come up with an idea that Roger feels could actually work. Approaching Rafa with the subject of family certainly is a bad plan at the moment. But there are still other options at hand. When he returns to Rafa's room that same evening, he doesn't even allow the younger man a chance for a first response or to shut the door in his face. He simply pushes right past him, smiling and holding out the little gift he has brought for Rafa instead, effectively blindsiding the younger man like that. 

“Still no sex, sorry. But I wanted to show you something.”

“What is that?”

“That's the babies.”

The ultrasound picture Roger has brought along is a little grainy and it is hard to make out any details, which is probably what has prompted Rafa's question. Even knowing and having it explained by the gynecologist, Roger still finds it hard to tell where one baby ends and the other one begins. Judging from the confused expression on Rafa's face, he has the same kind of problem. But at least he isn't trying to coax Roger into sex or is hurling sharp and hurtful words at him again. His eyes wander from the picture back to Roger and for a brief moment a glimpse of that softness and shyness Roger has missed so much is shining through. 

“Why do you show me this?”

“So you can have a connection. I think it would be good if you knew them. I mean you can't know them from a picture, I'm aware of that. But when they are born. You could be like an uncle or something...”

“The creepy uncle who steals their father away to the bedroom?”

There it is again – Rafa trying to turn the situation into an opportunity for sex. Roger doesn't take the bait though and at least this time Rafa doesn't have that predatory look in his eyes again. Instead there is a hint of a smile on his face at the mention but it's sad and strangely misplaced on a face that is otherwise completely void of any show of emotion. Roger mirrors the gesture, his smile a lot more genuine and his voice gentle. 

“Maybe we could be a little more subtle than that.”

“So you come back to me?”

“I never left you, Rafa. But I still mean what I said yesterday. I will commit to my family – first and foremost. You don't have to be okay with that. But if you can, maybe we can find a way to work things out? Find a common ground? One where the kids stay innocent and we stay happy.”

Rafa shakes his head at that and Roger feels his heart sink. It's the first time he sees emotions play on Rafa's face since he has come here today and unlike the other times before he sees neither grim determination nor disdain or anger. It's sadness he sees, a gut wrenching display of sorrow that makes his heart clench in his chest. Rafa suddenly looks very tired... and a lot younger. He turns and takes a couple of steps away to stop in front of the floor length windows of his hotel suite, looking outside. His back is turned on Roger now and his voice is so low, Roger can barely make out the words. 

“I'm not happy. And your kids won't be innocent forever. It's just how it is...”

“What's wrong, Rafa. Please tell me? Talk to me? Please...”

Roger's tone of voice is soothing and gentle and careful but unfortunately it doesn't have the desired effect. Rafa doesn't turn, doesn't start to cry, doesn't spill his guts to him about what happened with his parents... He simply stays where he is, unmoving, the way he holds himself stiff and tense showing how hard he is trying to fight down his emotions. When he shakes his head no, Roger feels defeated. But when Rafa turns and gives him another one of those small sad smiles and he can see the moisture of unshed tears swimming in the younger man's eyes, Roger knows coming here again has not been in vain. Rafa doesn't push him away or ignore him this time, he simply asks for more time. 

“I... can't. Not now. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Roger is willing to give Rafa all the time he needs as longs as he decides to actually talk to him in the end. It doesn't have to be now or today or tomorrow, but at some point Roger hopes Rafa will talk to him. For now the younger man waves the ultrasound picture in his general direction and smiles again. It looks just a tiny bit more genuine this time. 

“Thank you for this.”

“Actually it was Mirka's idea. She wanted you to have this... But of course it's both our pleasure.”

The words sort of hang in the air between them, the distance between them suddenly too wide. They stand at least 10 feet apart and it seems unbearably much to Roger. But he doesn't dare close the gap between them. They have reached a fragile balance within their broken and newly formed relationship... or so it seems. It's not resolve, it's not a solution but it is something akin to equilibrium. It's all they will be able to achieve for the moment and Roger knows better than to push. Rafa will talk to him when he's ready. For now they have to learn to trust one another again. 

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay. Please.”


	6. A fluke of  the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a hurt/comfort OS that is not as dramatic as the other ones I have written.  
> This is set during the Australian Open 2015 after Rafa's second round match against Tym Smyczek.  
> Of course the description of the post match recuperation is way overdramatized but that's what fanfiction is for :P  
> This one is unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> <>°O°<>

*Melbourne – 2015*

Roger had watched a little of Rafa's second round night session match but had stopped after the first set. Things had been going alright then and he had simply assumed Rafa had cruised past the American qualifier in straight sets. It wasn't until the next morning that he found out he was completely wrong in his assessment of the match. Mirka had told him in hushed tones during a sparse breakfast that there had been some sort of health problem Rafa had been dealing with from the second set onward and that it had caused the whole thing to turn into an almost four hours long, five-sets nail biter with Rafa prevailing in the end, battling past his unseeded opponent and through whatever ailment that had sidelined him. Roger had looked at a highlights reel after that... He had not liked what he had been forced to see. 

It had not been a difficult decision to go see the Spaniard from there on. Actually it seemed the only logical thing to do in order to get a good look at the younger man and make sure he was doing alright now. Maybe Roger would even use the chance for a couple of well chosen words of scolding. Going through what seemed to be fatigue and nausea and dizziness up to the point of risking dehydration and a battery of other complications definitely had not been one of Rafa's brighter ideas. Just because he had prevailed in the end didn't mean it was a justified decision. It wasn't like Roger usually told Rafa what to do and what was best for him. But wit such a blatant display of ignorance to his own well being, Roger felt the circumstances warranted an exception. 

Getting to Rafa's room, Roger took the stairs to get the two floors down from his penthouse suite. The movement gave him a feeling of purpose and it was definitely better than waiting for the stupid elevator to arrive. This way he was most definitely quicker. It wasn't until he reached the door to Rafa's hotel room that he realized the younger man probably hadn't been back here until the early morning hours and that waking him just for a chance to give him a piece of his mind was not a good idea. Roger decided to give it one try and if that didn't work he would come back later.

It was a soft knock, one he was sure could only be heard by the room's temporary owner if he was actually awake. Rafa wouldn't wake up from this. And it seemed that was exactly the problem, because there was no answer. At least not for a while. It took a full minute or maybe even longer but then Roger was sure to hear movement inside the room. But it wasn't Rafa opening the door on him but the Spaniard's uncle. Roger never actually felt a hundred percent comfortable in any given situation where he was alone with the older man. Today was no different.

“Morning...”

„He's still asleep. Maybe you should come back later.“

Of course Toni knew immediately why Roger had shown up in the first place and his very first instinct was to try and protect his nephew, even if it was just from a well meaning third party involved. Roger however wasn't willing to give up so easily. He had seen how utterly spent and exhausted Rafa had been after his match and Roger wanted to be sure the younger man was definitely okay.

„I just wanted to check on him... Can I? Just for a quick look? I promise I won't disturb him...“

Roger didn't like having to plead with Rafa's uncle like this, especially not standing out here in the hallway exposed to all the world. What he hated even more was the fact that Toni's face stayed entirely unreadable. The older man looked at Roger closely for a long, long moment as if that would help him to gauge Roger's intentions. Finally there was a nod and Toni stepped aside letting Roger in.

The room consisted of the usual endearing chaos that always befell Rafa's hotel rooms a couple of days into every tournament. The one unusual thing was the fact that there were a blanket and pillow on the couch... It looked very much like Toni had been here all night and had actually slept on the couch in the main room of the hotel suite. The fact that he hadn't wanted to leave his nephew alone throughout the night only fueled Roger's worry for the younger man.

„How is he“

„We don't know yet. We have to wait and see how he feels when he wakes up. Hopefully it was just a fluke caused by the change in weather last night. If not... well we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.“

It wasn't exactly a reassuring answer but it was still better than to find out that Rafa wasn't doing better or even worse than last night. They stood together for a moment, awkward silence falling between them, before Toni finally moved again, leading the way to Rafa's bedroom and carefully opening the door to the room. The curtains to the window were only half drawn allowing the first soft rays of the morning sun inside and illuminating the room softly. It was enough light for Roger to get a good look of Rafa.

The younger man was on his side, one arm underneath the pillow, supporting his head, his face obscured by a mop of unruly hair and the blanket drawn up this face. His other arm was outstretched and a bandage was on his forearm. It made little sense to Roger until he realized there was plastic tubing snaking away from underneath the bandage and let up to a bag on an IV pole containing a clear fluid. The bag was almost empty and it was only now that the Swiss realized the bandage had to be covering an IV port to make sure it didn't shift or got dislocated while Rafa slept... This looked a lot more serious than Toni had initially let on. Roger kept his voice low in order not to risk waking Rafa up but he made no effort to keep both reproach and worry from his tone

„What did you do?“

„We tried with a light dinner and water but... well it didn't work out so well. His stomach was still pretty upset I guess...“

“So instead of getting him to eat and drink, you drugged him?”

Roger was very much aware of the fact that he was being out of line and that he had raised his voice as well. Luckily so far it seemed not to have had an impact on Rafa. The younger man was still sleeping soundly. Toni obscured Roger's view as he stepped into his way and pushed the door closed again. If he was in any way taken aback by Roger's rather blatant display of audacity, making it sound like the team had actually hurt Rafa instead of helping him, he didn't let it show. Instead the older man simply shrugged in response. 

„It's just IV fluids, Roger. It's not a big deal.“

„It is a big deal! He never should have played like that.“

„He felt fine before. You know that, I know that. It simply happened...“

„He could have stopped.“

„Does that sound like a likely scenario in your head? Have you two actually met?“

„Forcing himself through this... it wasn't necessary.“

Toni's display of sarcasm was not appreciated but it was hard to deny that Rafa's uncle was right. Roger himself had last been here about a day ago and Rafa had indeed been fine prior to his match warm-up. There had been no tell tale signs of discomfort or illness whatsoever. Whatever had happened,had happened at short notice. But it still didn't mean that Rafa had to finish his match at all costs... and certainly not at the cost of his own health. Rafa's uncle however actually smiled at the suggestion that his nephew would have retired from the match due to the problems that had arisen. Rafa was stubborn and determined, they both knew that. Deterring him from anything wasn't a feat easily achieved. 

„Please do make that argument to him, I'd pay money to see that discussion.“

„I'm just saying...“

„I know what you are trying to say. But despite what you might think – Rafael is not stupid and we are not careless with his health. This was the best course of action give the fact that he was barely able to keep anything down. We let him sleep now and if he feels up to it, he'll have a light meal and an even lighter practice this afternoon. Hopefully everything will be fine for tomorrow.“

“And if it's not?“

„Then we'll talk about it and make a decision from there. Just like we always do. This is hardly the first time he has been sidelined with illness or injury in a tournament. We know what we're doing.“

Roger nodded at that. He actually felt a little silly having reacted so emotionally to the whole thing. He was worried about Rafa but that still didn't give him any right to accuse Rafa's team of any kind of negligence. As Toni had just pointed out to him, they all knew very well what they were doing – including the younger man. Roger knew he could trust them but that didn't mean his concern had magically vanished. The brief moment he had been allowed to look in on Rafa still didn't feel like enough.

„Can I stay with him?“

„Sure. Just don't wake him. He's only been asleep for about 5 hours.“

Having Toni's blessing to do so, Roger had returned to Rafa's bedroom, tiptoeing around to get to the armchair next to the bed and the stupid IV pole, giving him a good look at what little was actually visible of Rafa's face beneath the hair and the blanket. Roger had to drop a pair of shorts and an I-pod to the ground before he could sit down but then he was settled next to the bed. Rafa was still blissfully oblivious to anything that was going on around him and Roger certainly didn't plan on waking him. 

Hours passed like this and it was past noon when Rafa finally stirred from his slumber. It took him a little while before he actually, fully woke up and Roger hoped it was simply fatigue from the match last night and not some lingering aftereffect from whatever illness had befallen him so suddenly last night. Roger – who had been occupied with reading through a couple more articles on his phone, looked up when out of the corner of his eyes he saw Rafa move. The younger man had disentangled his hand from underneath the pillow and had pushed both the blanket and the hair away from his face. Roger couldn't help but smile at Rafa's disheveled state. 

„Hey sleepyhead.“

„Roger?“

„Yeah, it's me. How do you feel?“

Roger could practically watch along as Rafa thought about the question and took mental inventory of himself. He needed a moment to do so and Roger wasn't entirely sure he was treated to a complete version of the truth when Rafa answered him. Actually it wasn't really an answer. Most of it was an attempt at deflection. But as the younger man had just woken up and was still trying to get his bearings, Roger decided to let things slide Rafa had propped himself up on the elbow of the arm he had been sleeping on by now, looking intently at the Swiss. 

„Drowsy... and confused. Have you been here long?“

„Since about nine.“

„What time is it?“

„It's past noon. Looks like you needed the rest. You don't usually sleep in like that...“

There was the tiniest hint of reproach to Roger's tone but Rafa – still more asleep than awake – didn't pick up on it. He seemed more preoccupied by the fact that Roger had been here for hours to sit with him and watch over him, while he himself had been completely oblivious to anything that had been going on around him. The longer they talked however, the more awake, coherent and actually alright Rafa sounded. To Roger there was little doubt last night's fluke of a sudden onset of illness was over today. 

„You've been sitting there all this time?“

„Yes.“

„Doing what?“

„Watching you. Making sure you were okay.“

Roger's gaze had inadvertently wandered to the bandage and attached IV line on Rafa's arm and the younger man looked quite embarrassed as he followed Roger's gaze. He couldn't very well hide the proof of a doctor's intervention on his behalf away. Instead he shrugged his shoulders which was kind of an awkward gesture given the fact that Rafa still relied on one of his arms to hold up his body weight. Deflection was his way to go yet again but Roger wasn't letting him this time. He still felt anything but comfortable that IV fluids had been administered to make sure Rafa hydrated, slept and recuperated properly. 

„It's nothing.“

„Doesn't look like nothing to me.“

„I'm fine now. Just a little tired.“

„Yeah, that's what everybody keeps telling me.“

Roger couldn't bring himself to sound convinced. No matter how many times Rafa or any member of his team told the Swiss that everything was fine now, he had a hard time believing it, especially with the medical equipment of the IV still so prominently displayed. Even if he had tried, Roger simply couldn't pretend he liked any of this. Rafa was grinning at him now – obviously for the younger man, the means had very well justified the end. 

„I win.“

„That you did.“

Roger actually managed a small smile in tandem with his words. He hadn't come here to make Rafa feel bad. That was the last of his intentions. He was trying to make sure that Rafa knew he wasn't here because he wanted to scold him or tell him how stupid a decision it had been to continue last night's match even though Rafa had very clearly felt unwell for the major part of it, so much so that it had affected him through the night and into the next morning. He simply wanted Rafa to know that he sympathized with the ailing man and that he was very much concerned about him. Concerned but certainly not irritated.

„I worry, okay. Just... be careful.“

„Come here.“

„What about...“

Roger was pointing to the bandage and the IV line right after Rafa had suggested Roger come to him with a pat on the free spot of the mattress right next to him. Obviously the younger man wanted a closer proximity, craving the physical contact they had not engaged in until yet. But Roger was worried about the medical equipment. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled in the IV line and either disturb it or even pull it out by accident. Rafa however had a solution for that. He was wriggling two finger underneath the bandage and rather easily found the spot where the tubing connected to the IV port. Roger watched the show of concentration on Rafa's face as he worked the tubing free, simply setting it aside, patting the mattress again with a grin afterwards and smiling an almost triumphant smile at him. 

„See? All better. You come here now?“

Roger couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at how easily the Spaniard had gotten rid of the medical equipment attached to his arm. But he certainly had no reason to say no to Rafa now anymore. Not that he wanted to. Roger changed position, abandoning the armchair and settling down on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. Rafa had shifted as well, the younger man's head settled against his chest and the bandaged arm loosely draped over Roger's stomach as the Swiss put his own arm around the younger man's shoulders, supporting himself with the other. They stayed like this for a while – perfectly content and silent, both their breaths matching one another. After a couple of minutes, Roger moved just a little. Leaning forward and down, he placed a very soft kiss on Rafa's temple. 

„Don't ever scare me like that again.“

„I try.“


	7. Seniority

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is just a bit off and all over the map.  
> But I'm still reeling from Rafa's match and I was too riled up to sleep.  
> So this is what my brain came up with in order to make sense of the tension...
> 
> Can be seen as Gen or M/M if you squint a little.  
> It's pretty melancholy and not really hurt/comfort in the traditional sense.  
> But I think it works well that way.  
> Unbetaed as I only just finished writing. 
> 
> Hope you like it.
> 
> <>°O°<>

*September 1st – New York*

Roger is on his way from a training session to the player's lounge for a light lunch when he detects Rafa on one of the adjacent practice courts. It's a bit strange because the Spaniard isn't actually on the court. He's just there, at the sidelines, seated on a chair, one leg – the one that had been taped and bandaged right beneath the knee after the 1st set last night – propped up on the edge of the bench standing next to the sideline. 

The court is otherwise occupied, two of the younger players on the tour, Denis Shapovalov and Stefanos Tsitsipas – both not older than twenty – practicing together and hitting the ball at one another while very much trying to look like they are oblivious to their prominent spectator. It makes for a strange scene. The two younger man practicing with an intensity that seems a little much for a training session and Rafa sitting there, watching them go at it like he has nothing better to do. Roger decides to make the scene even weirder by not walking by but actually onto the practice court. 

It's not something he would usually do and it's just a tiny bit rude. After all these two youngsters have booked the court for practice. But if Rafa is tolerated as a spectator, Roger is pretty sure they won't mind him being here either. They most definitely will be distracted though, but Roger can't bring himself to care. He's too curious to find out what Rafa is doing here, lending his illustrious presence to an otherwise very ordinary scene out here on the practice courts. 

True enough to Roger's assessment Shapovalov hits his next ball long as soon as Roger steps closer, obviously distracted by the Swiss appearing to the side of the court. They stop, both of them looking at him like they expect him to say or do something but he simply gives them a nod and a smile and walks up to Rafa, who only now seems to realize that it is the presence of a fourth person on the practice court that has caused the two younger man to interrupt their hitting session. Rafa turns half around on his chair and gives Roger a soft smile as he approaches.

„Hola, Rogi.“

„Hi Rafa. What are you doing here, disturbing those two? Shouldn't you practice?“

Roger has stepped past the chair Rafa is sitting on and has settled himself down on the bench in front of Rafa, mindful of the propped up leg. He doesn't spare a second glance at the court and the two youngsters seem to realize that apart from a friendly nod, they are not welcome into this conversation. Seconds later Roger can hear the sound of a ball on a racket as one of them serves. He doesn't turn to look who of them does. Rafa however has his gaze fixed on the two younger men, talking to Roger without looking at him. 

„Practice is done. Half an hour ago, I finish. A bit of light hitting with Carlos. Gym later.“

„And right now?“

„I sit. I relax. I watch.“

Roger nods at that, which of course Rafa doesn't see. The Canadian and the Greek have resumed their practice session but it's the fourth or fifth ball that hasn't really been put into play, either going long or ending up in the net. Obviously they are very much distracted by two of the most celebrated and most prominent players on the tour – World Number One and Two – sitting to the edge of their practice court, chatting casually. Finally Rafa focuses his attention on Roger, obviously aware that his watchful eyes on the progress of the two youngsters isn't helping. Roger takes a chance to let a bit of his worry shine through, gaze fixed on Rafa's propped up leg. 

„How's the knee?“

„It's there.“

It's a dismissive answer and Roger knows better than to pry. Behind him a ball obviously goes wide and a curse can be heard. Stefanos, he's most definitely sure. Roger has a hard time hiding back a soft grin. So much passion for a couple of simple practice shots... It reminds him of himself at that age, hating it every time he missed a shot or send a ball flying. He has definitely mellowed since then... He focuses his attention back on Rafa, still trying to make sense of the younger man's presence here on the practice court occupied by Tsitsipas and Shapovalov. For all intents and purposes Rafa shouldn't be here. 

„Don't they mind you sitting here, spying on them?“

„I no spy. I watch.“

„And they don't mind?“

„They say it's okay. I ask.“

Roger actually gapes at that. He wonders if ever – in all the years of a turbulent but very illustrious and successful career, Rafa has ever, even once used both his name and status to gain something for himself he otherwise wouldn't have gotten. Like the right to sit here on a practice court without actually having to ask permission of it's other occupants to be here. Somehow Roger can't picture that scene. There is something about the Spaniard actually asking the two youngsters for permission to be here that is so distinctively... Rafa, that it warms Roger's heart. He can't help but smile at the thought and Rafa seems to see nothing wrong with the fact he has been polite instead of being just a tiny bit full of himself and simply doing as he pleases. 

„You asked them if you could watch?“

„For sure. I even throw back a couple of long balls.“

They sit in silence for a while, both of them watching the two younger man going at it in their practice session, obviously very much recovered from the fact that they have the two best players their sport has to offer sitting right there next to them, watching them work and tinker on their game. Roger is sure they are both still a little bit nervous and preoccupied, but they make a good display of not letting it show. When Stefanos hits a ball at an awkward angle and it bounces off impossibly, hitting Denis in the thigh on it's way across the net, both men laugh. Roger can hear Rafa sigh ever so softly. He himself finds a small grin on his face at the display of happy banter and simple joy of the game. He lowers his voice, so the two youngsters don't hear, and his question comes across with a little more melancholy than he has planned. 

„Were we ever that young?“

„Is a while ago. A long while.“

„When I was 20 these two guys were... Well let's not talk about that.“

„Is more career behind us than before us, Rogi.“

Rafa sounds positively depressing now and even more melancholy and forlorn than Roger had. It's a strange reaction, one he isn't usually used to from the Spaniard. Rafa has bad days of course – they all have – and sometimes Rafa tends to overthink things, especially when it comes to the time they have left on the tour. But he's usually a happy and carefree soul, enjoying and appreciating what he has. This kind of talk doesn't happen all too often and Roger calls him out on it immediately. 

„Oh come on, stop being so melodramatic.“

„They remember, Rogi. They remember and they talk like is legend. History. Wimbledon 2008, Melbourne 2009. They are... impressed.“

„Well they should be. We are pretty damn impressive. It's definitely been a good run, wouldn't you say?“

„But it ends. Sometime...“

Obviously today is one of those days Rafa doesn't only overthink things, but dwells on them way too much. Maybe it's because of the long match he played last night, maybe it's because he isn't at one hundred percent physically and his knee is bothering him. Or maybe it's the blatant difference in age and style displayed there on the practice court that he has been watching for far too long. Roger doesn't really care which one it is. What he does know is that it's not a good line of thinking. He sets out to get Rafa out of his funk. 

„Not today though, not tomorrow. As long as we can still beat those guys, I don't see any reason to stop. You beat one of them just last night.“

„And now I need to rest the knee.“

„That has nothing to do with age though.“

Rafa looks at him for a brief moment and shrugs, before focusing his attention back on the court. Obviously he doesn't want to look at Roger when they talk about age and vulnerability, about the finite nature of their careers and the fragility of both mental and physical health. Obviously all those things are on Rafa's mind today. They shouldn't be and Roger tries his hardest to focus Rafa's attention on something else. 

„Is how I feel though. Old... Older.“

„Well older than these guys, that much is true. But that's just how it is. We're not teenagers any more. Not like them. They talk about facebook profiles and V-logs and parties and stuff. We... we talk about school enrollments and family cars and scheduling plans and engagement rings...“

Rafa makes a face at the mention of a ring and Roger can't help but grin. This is who they are these days. The legends, the guys striving for longevity, the fathers and husbands and long term boyfriends of tennis... It's not a bad thing and with the mention of engagements and marriage, Roger has finally found an angle to get Rafa to think of something else for the moment. They have been talking about this time and again for a while now and obviously Roger isn't the only one bothering Rafa and telling him he should go ahead and marry the woman he has been with for more than a decade now. There are ongoing rumors and somehow the younger man still manages to get out of actually popping the question year after year. At some point it has gotten ridiculous. But his girlfriend doesn't seem to mind. They are happy the way they are. Roger however can't help but pry... and joke about it just a little bit. He knows he's being teasing and maybe a little intrusive but he's sure Rafa doesn't mind. 

„You still haven't asked her yet?“

„No.“

„You should.“

„I know. Not today. Not tomorrow.“

„One of these days she's going to grow tired of waiting. She'll run out on you. Take one of these kids instead. And you won't be able to run them down. Because you have a bum knee. Two of them actually.“

It's a bit of a vicious joke, just a tiny bit too much and Rafa glares at him at the mention of his girlfriend blowing him off and exchanging him for a younger version. It maybe wasn't the best tease to use on a day Rafa feels a little apprehensive about his own age and the limits of what he can sustain and still do in the time he has left on the tour. There is no venom to Rafa's gaze though and Roger visibly relaxes at that, giving the younger man a wide grin. 

„You are not funny, Roger.“

„Actually I'm hilarious. And you my friend – are not old. So stop moping.“

„I'm not... moping.“

Rafa stumbles over the obviously unfamiliar word but he seems to gather from context what Roger has been trying to say. He doesn't call Rafa out on the fact that he's both deflecting and lying. He is most definitely moping. But talking about it doesn't change it. Instead Roger comes up with a different idea. The adjacent practice court has just freed up and Roger gives Rafa's propped up leg a light pat, hoping the younger man is willing and actually physically able to follow through on Roger's idea. 

„How about half a set? Give these kids something to look at and be in awe of?“

„I try.“

„You do it, Rafa. You always do it. Trying isn't your style. You fight.“

Rafa nods at that and the all too familiar expression of determination and strong will appear on his face – two character traits Roger has been waiting for to light up the Spaniards face ever since they have started sitting here, watching the two youngsters and talking to one another. Roger mentally pats himself on the shoulder for a job well done on getting Rafa to focus on something other but his gloomy thoughts. It's not a full success though as he has to realize but still it is better than nothing... 

„Until is over.“

„Inevitably.“


	8. Decisionmaking for Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea has been on my mind and kept bothering me from time to time for a while now.  
> Initially I wanted to make a story out of it but I decided a oneshot is enough.  
> It is very long and I'm not exactly happy with it...  
> Hope you like it better than I do.
> 
> Btw I still can't believe Rafa has actually done any of this.  
> Playing two tournaments of competitive tennis with a raging infection to the intestinal tract is NOT a good idea.  
> I know from first hand experience that stuff like that is not fun and I was actually at a hospital! Stupid idiot... 
> 
> Anyway - here we go.

*17th October 2014*

Rafa knows he is in for trouble the moment he decides to play the tournament in Basel. But he feels better. Not exactly good, not exactly healthy but good enough to play tennis. Or maybe not. He doesn't know and that is the whole problem of the matter. The only way to find out, to be sure is to actually play under competitive circumstances. He is lacking practice, the damn antibiotics - he still has to take for another couple of days before the regimen is finished – are making him tired and just a tiny bit nauseous and he simply can't trust his own body.

Like this year and the injuries he has been plagued by haven't been troublesome and frustrating enough, fate or life or simple coincidence has thrown yet another obstacle his way – in the form of an inflamed appendix. It has to come out at some point, he will have to have surgery at some point but not right away, not right now. Right at this moment the antibiotics have taken care of the infection, have rendered it inactive and even though he is not exactly well, he is well enough to be up and about and do what he loves.

Of course Roger will see it differently. But Roger loves him and because of that Roger worries – extensively and disproportionately. He shouldn't. He should trust Rafa to be able and competent to make his own decisions. After all it isn't like he simply does as he pleases. He has talked to his doctors, he has taken his medication and his condition is being monitored. He's okay, he's safe to play and at some point Roger needs to understand that. But somehow Rafa doubts today will be this day.

He arrives in Basel on Friday – two days before the tournament starts and three days before his first match here – and the first thing he does is have a practice session. He needs it and that is a little disconcerting all in itself. He hasn't been able to get much of any practice in since the appendicitis has flared up in Shanghai. The doctors advised him to take it easy, to not strain his body too much and to take his medication and simply wait until he feels better. He does feel better now, he feels able to at least try to compete and that is definitely better than staying home doing nothing but listening to every last murmur his intestines make, hoping and praying that it doesn't mean anything bad. This way he is distracted and that keeps the doubt about the capability of his own physicality at bay. He doesn't think about whether or not his body will betray him again or not. He simply hits the small yellow ball. That he can do, that is easy. 

He is happy and content with his decision until he is at the hotel and the damn fatigue that has been plaguing him ever since his doctors put him on the rather strong, oral antibiotics he is taking, threatens to win the better of him. Every last fiber of his being tells him to lie down and sleep - or at least doze – for a little while until the sudden bout of tiredness and slight dizziness dissipates again. But he doesn't get the chance to do that. Because there is someone at the door to his hotel room and judging from the rather forcefully knocking, it is someone who is both emotional and impatient. Rafa sighs. He knows who is visitor is already and for a second he contemplates simply ignoring the knocks. But he knows he can't do this. They need to talk sooner or later, it can't be avoided. Better to do it right now. At least than he has gotten that out of the way and over with.

Rafa goes to open the door to his hotel suite and of course it is Roger in front of his door, hand raised and balled into a fist, ready to knock again. Rafa tries for a smile but he doesn't exactly manage. He's simply too damn tired. Stupid medication... Roger doesn't seem to care for any displays of calm or affection anyway. The Swiss pushes past him without actually asking permission and Rafa is simply too tired to scold the older man on his rather rude reaction. He knows Roger doesn't mean to be rude. He's scared and worried and emotional and that makes him act like this. Rafa can understand that. He's not sure he can accept it though. 

Rafa closes the door behind his unannounced and unwanted visitor and waits for the inevitable fallout of his decision. True to what Rafa expects of him, Roger wastes no time with pleasantries, doesn't even ask him how he is doing. Probably because right now it is clearly visible how he feels – tired and pale and exhausted. Rafa leans against the door to his hotel room, glad for the support, while Roger takes a couple of steps into the room, then turns around rather abruptly and walks back up to Rafa. Reproach is clearly audible in Roger's voice and Rafa tries his hardest to stay calm and matter-of-factly. The last thing he wants right now is to fight. 

„What the hell are you doing here?!“

„Play tennis?“

„Don't play coy with me. You shouldn't be here!“

„This is a tennis tournament and I am a tennis player. Where else should I be?“

Rafa knows it's the wrong approach to calm Roger down. He is being defensive, he reacts angrily and he doesn't relay the information to Roger the other man wants and needs in order to stop worrying about him. What he should do is tell Roger that he feels okay, that he is through with his antibiotic treatment and that the appendicitis is under control and not bothering or paining him at the moment. But he doesn't do any of that. Instead he tells Roger to butt out and that is clearly the wrong thing to say.

„At home in bed! Or better yet – at a hospital! You are sick!“

„Not at the moment. I have antibiotics for that. And the infection is... at bay. I'm fine.“

„Fine my ass! You should have had surgery right away.“

„We had this discussion before. This is not your concern or your decision.“

„I know. If it was, you wouldn't be here. You're too damn stubborn for your own good. You should be taking better care of yourself!“

Rafa sighs. He shouldn't have told Roger that his health is none of the older man's concern. After all Roger loves him and cares for him, but love and care can take strange forms if worry and fear are in the mix as well. It can turn love into something else, something a lot darker... But Rafa simply is sick and tired of this discussion. They had this very same argument in Shanghai already and Rafa has been feeling sick and tired and simply bad back then. He doesn't want to remember. What he wants is for Roger to believe him and to trust him. 

„I am taking care of myself. I have medication, I feel better, the infection is under control and I will have surgery when I think it's the right time. I get that you're worried. But stop telling me what to do.“

“I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just worried. Very, very worried. You were so sick back in Shanghai and all I want is for you to be okay. Coming here, playing tennis when you are still struggling with the infection, when you still need surgery... I'm sorry, but it's wrong.”

“It's not wrong, Rogi. You just think it is. Believe me, I'm not doing anything crazy. I talked to the doctors, I talked to my team, I talked to my family. It's okay for me to be here.”

Rafa expects Roger to snap at him again, to argue with him again and start this whole discussion all over again. But it doesn't happen. Maybe it's the fact that he sounds calmer now, more friendly instead of dismissive or maybe it's the soft smile lighting up his face. Either way Roger calms down a bit, doesn't sound as worried and angry any more and asks for confirmation, for assurance instead. 

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Rafa's smile widens a bit and for the first time since he has barged in here, Roger actually fully looks at him. And he sees. He sees how Rafa uses the door for support, sees the lines of exhaustion and the paleness to his face, sees the slightly hunched over way Rafa holds himself. But there is also the smile and the inviting gesture Rafa makes towards the couch in the main room. They both walk over and drop down. Roger facing Rafa and now – that their initial argument is over and Roger's worry has dissipated somewhat – they can have a genuinely open talk. 

“How... how are you?”

“I'm really better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Rafa isn't sure Roger actually believes him. But the Swiss nods anyway and even if it just so they won't engage in yet another argument or not, Rafa truly can't bring himself to care right now. He needs a bit of a rest, maybe a bottle of water and he still is in desperate need of a shower. He tells Roger all that, asks the older man to order room service, asks him to stay and Roger agrees. While Rafa takes his shower and slips into something more comfortable, Roger takes care of food and a movie to watch. 

Rafa takes about twenty minutes and by the time he leaves the bathroom – feeling a lot less tired and woozy and with his hair still wet – room service has only just arrived. They put on a movie they both know so they have something to watch while they eat. Roger however doesn't pay attention to either his food or the entertainment. What he does pay attention to is Rafa. Actually he eyes the younger man like a hawk looking for prey and at some point Rafa picks up on it. 

“Rogi, stop watching me like this. I won't suddenly get a fever or puke or keel over. I'm fine.”

“I know. I know...”

Roger still doesn't look like he believes him and Rafa actually starts feeling sick again. But this time it's not the last remnants of medication or the food. It's Roger's inability to just stop worrying. Rafa cannot - in good conscience - blame the older man though. What he remembers of Shanghai is a lot of pain and discomfort, generally feeling sick and tired and a rather surreal weekend and beginning of the week with doctors, hospitals, nurses and a match he never has any chance to win in the first place. Roger on the other hand remembers it differently and he remembers it all too vividly. As awful as Shanghai has been for Rafa, it hasn't exactly been any better for Roger and that is what makes it so hard to stay calm right now. 

*#*

*Shanghai – two weeks ago*

Roger knows Rafa has been here in Shanghai since Saturday. He has seen pictures of the Spaniard arriving at the airport. But he hasn't seen Rafa around even once. Not at the hotel, not at the tournament site, nowhere. The rest of his team accompanying him – his physio, his coach, his father – they have all been strangely absent both from the tournament grounds and the hotel facilities. That alone wouldn't be suspicious. Every player in this tournament has every right and reason to prepare the best way they see fit. 

But Rafa doesn't react to Roger's texts and phone calls either and that is not something Rafa usually does. In the end Roger decides to simply go to Rafa's hotel room. That is the last message he has gotten from Rafa on Saturday evening – telling Roger where he will be staying. Now it is Monday and the radio silence is simply too much to bear. Roger wants an explanation. And above all else he simply wants a chance to see Rafa face to face and make sure everything is okay...

When Roger knocks, nothing happens for quite a while and he is almost sure that Rafa isn't at his room. Maybe he is out with his team, maybe for dinner, maybe for something else. Roger is about to leave when he hears movement behind the door and then there is the click of the lock. But it is not Rafa who comes to greet him. It's Rafa's father, who opens the door on him and the older man looks pale and a lot older than he actually is. Roger can't help but comment on it, the words slipping past his lips before he has made the conscious decision to say them. 

“Mr. Nadal... You... you look tired.”

Roger always feels a little uncomfortable and awkward among the members of Rafa's family that are senior to the Swiss. It has always been that way with Toni and it is that way right now with Rafa's father. It's not just the language barrier though, it's mainly the fact that Roger isn't sure if Rafa's family knows about them... Roger always assumes they suspect but they don't exactly know... It makes interacting with them even more difficult. Right now however Rafa's father seems simply too exhausted to actually care for Roger's motives for being here. The older man smiles a very small smile at him that creases his face and makes the lines of worry and exhaustion all the more prominent. His English is just as thick with accent as Rafa's.

“My son is sick.”

A cold hard knot forms in the pit of Roger's stomach at the mention of Rafa being sick. He can't help it. It's like he has known all along. He has been worried all along, has come here to make sure everything is okay after all. But it is not, and judging from the way Rafa's father looks, it is something more than just a cold or a stomach bug. It's something serious. Then again it can't be too serious. Otherwise Rafa wouldn't be at the hotel still. Maybe it's something like food poisoning. Something debilitating but not dangerous... Roger swallows hard and tries to sound as calm, composed and polite as he can. 

“Can... can I see him?”

Rafa's father neither nods nor shakes his head, but turns away from the door and calls back into the room. Roger can only assume he is asking his son if Rafa actually wants any visitors. There's a quick exchange in their native tongue that Roger still can't make much of any sense of even after all those years and he can hear Rafa's voice from somewhere inside the room. The younger man's voice sounds hoarse and tired and Roger is pretty sure Rafa looks even worse than his father. It's clearly audible that Rafa is sick and very much exhausted. Whatever the conversation is about, it seems Rafa does indeed feel up for visitors. Because his father steps out of the room, leaving the door open for Roger. 

“My room is across the floor. Knock if you need anything.”

Roger watches the older man go before he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. The room is the usual chaos that befalls every of Rafa's hotel rooms but there are oddities. The fact that very few of Rafa's things are actually unpacked for instance. And the fact that the younger man doesn't seem to be anywhere in the main room, waiting for Roger. As Rafa's father has said something about his son being sick, Roger assumes Rafa is in the bedroom. So that is where he goes. 

The sight he is greeted with is not in the least what Roger has expected. Rafa is indeed on the bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He's pale and he looks just as tired and exhausted and sick as his tone of voice has initially indicated. There's no blanket covering him and his right arm is exposed, the sleeve rolled up to his elbow. In the crook of his arm there is a needle taped into place, attached to an IV line that ends in a plastic bottle hung to an IV pole at the sight of the bed. Roger stares, he knows he does and it is all he can do for quite a while. It must be a full minute before he shakes himself out of his stupor and points to the bottle of clear liquid on the IV stand. He can't help the soft tremble in his voice as he looks at Rafa for an explanation now. 

“What... what is that?”

„IV antibiotics.“

„What for?“

„I have appendicitis.“

The way Rafa says it he might just as well have told Roger he has just been out grocery shopping. It sounds like an intestinal infection is no big deal, like it's nothing to worry about. Roger can hear himself gasp. He can't make sense of it, doesn't understand why Rafa will be here at the hotel with an IV line attached to his arm instead of in a hospital with a doctor and nursing staff and somebody to monitor his condition and take proper care if him. Rafa should be taking this way more seriously... Actually Rafa should have this taken care of. But somehow reality paints a different picture. 

„You have... You should be in a hospital!“

„I was. They said it's okay to do it like this.“

Somehow Rafa's explanation makes no sense to Roger. To him this isn't treatment. He isn't exactly a medical professional and he doesn't have all the facts but the one thing he knows for sure is that an inflamed appendix needs surgery, not IV antibiotics. But he doesn't have all the medical facts, doesn't even know how long Rafa has been sick like this and decides to get his facts straight before he starts accusing or judging either the Spaniard or anyone on his team to have made a stupid and potentially dangerous decision. 

“How long have you... had this?”

“Since I came here. I thought it was a stomach virus at first. I've had those before. But it is worse... Way worse.”

“Tell me.”

*#*

*4th October*

It all starts with a dull - and somewhat difficult to localize - throbbing in the lower right quadrant above the pelvic bone but below the lungs and a complete and utter loss of appetite. He blames it on the stress of traveling halfway around the world, on the first couple of matches under competitive conditions after months of being sidelined and maybe something funky he has eaten the day before in Beijing. The uncomfortable feeling is accompanied by a bone deep tiredness, one of the sort that makes it hard to stay vertical without putting an enormous amount of strength and effort into it, but at the same time runs too deep to actually allow for sleep to come easily.

He is supposed to be at dinner in less than half an hour. But even the thought of leaving this room - actually getting on his feet and walking - feels like way too much of an effort right now. He isn’t hungry anyway. Quite frankly he feels just a tiny bit nauseous. Not enough to actually feel bothered by it, but enough to make even the thought of food unappealing. His physio has a room right across the floor and will probably come knocking on his door in a little while to pick him up for the planned meal.

It is by no means far to walk and it would be a lot more polite to simply deliver the news in person that he will not be joining the rest of his team for dinner, but yet again it seems too much of an effort. The debilitating tiredness is a little worrisome, but still explained easily enough. Beijing has been his first tournament in months after all and returning to the regular schedule obviously takes a little more adjusting than expected. It is nothing to complain about, nothing to discuss – which will undoubtedly happen had he decided to join the dinner company – and it adds to the reason why he opts for a phone message instead of a conversation.

‘No need to pick me up. Won’t be joining dinner. Not hungry.’

He hopes the information contained in the short message will be enough to satisfy his physio's curiosity and he will simply go downstairs, let the rest of the team know and have a dinner without any further ado. Of course he isn’t that lucky. It takes less than a minute before there is a soft knock on his hotel room door, leaving him with only two options – fighting the dull pain and the leaden tiredness down, get up and answer the door… or give in to it, stay exactly where he is and ignore the visitor. Ignoring seems like the better idea, but of course things don’t turn out as easy, because his physio decides to be persistent.

“Rafa? I got your message… Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He calls out from his spot on the couch and he knows he shouldn't have. It isn't a nice thing to do and it probably does little to nothing to ease his unwanted visitor's worries. But he can't – for the life of him – muster up the energy to get up from that damn couch. Obviously his visitor is perplexed by his reaction. There is a long pause and then his physio’s muffled voice sounds through the door again, concern apparent in his tone of voice now.

“Won’t you let me in?”

The very first, instinctive reaction on the tip of his tongue is a rather clipped and rude ‘no’, but he catches himself before the little word passes his lips. Feigning ignorance hasn't worked this far and there is no need to add insult to injury. It is just one small movement upwards and a couple of steps to the door. Not a big deal, no effort at all... and he has to get up sooner or later to relocate first to the bathroom and then into bed anyway. Now is as good a time as any to give it a try.

“Give me a moment.”

It is a monstrous task or at least that is what it feels like to Rafa. It is dizzying and it momentarily increases the dull throb to a sharp, stabbing pain that quickly dulls down again as soon as he takes a first tentative step. It is slow going and it is anything but comfortable but he manages and that feels like an accomplishment in itself. He shuffles towards the door, taking small guarded steps and finally reaches the door, opening it to a friend who is so clearly worried about him the feeling is practically radiating off of him.

“You look tired…”

“I am.”

“You don’t look… well.”

“I’m fine, I promise. Tired, a little dizzy maybe… Nothing sleep won’t fix.”

“You sure?”

The question is frustrating and alarming at the same time. If his friend is so unsure about the sincerity of his answer, it can only mean that he looks just about as awful as he feels. A solemn nod is the only answer he can muster and he can only hope it will be enough to dissipate the worry. Judging from the expression on his physio's face, he is anything but successful, but at least the other man has the decency and good sense to leave him be and accept the answer given. He doesn't fully give up on wanting to make sure Rafa is definitely okay though. 

“Should… should I check on you after dinner? Maybe send your father?”

“No! No… I’ll probably be asleep anyway. No need to bother.”

His physio lingers for just a moment longer and Rafa is almost sure there is yet another question to come, another reassurance expected. But he turns out to be wrong. He is clearly uncomfortable leaving him like this, but finally his physio reacts with a nod and a shrug. Not exactly a display of confidence and believe in Rafa's reassurances but still better than nothing. 

„Get some rest then. We'll be seeing you for breakfast, I guess.“

Rafa neither confirms nor denies the suggestion. The way he feels right now, he is pretty sure breakfast is not in the cards for him tomorrow. But then again everything will probably look a lot better after a good night's sleep. He gives something that can be interpreted as a nod and that seems to be enough to satisfy the other man. He rises a hand in goodbye and then turns to leave. Still leaning against the not yet fully closed door, Rafa watches him go.

Halfway down the corridor - two to three doors down from Rafa's room his physio meets up with another member of his entourage and there is a short conversation about Rafa's whereabouts and the reasons for his absence that he cannot quite make out. There is one last thing he actually can discern with certainty before closing the door on them and it is his physio muttering something that distinctly sounded like ‘something is off with him’. He isn't exactly wrong...

Sleep doesn’t come. 

Rafa has used the momentum he has gathered before answering the door and has used the fact that he is up on his own two feet to relocate to the bedroom just as he has planned. He has skipped the additional stop to the bathroom. A shower and brushing his teeth maybe would have helped him feel a little bit better. But he has lacked the energy to take even a step more than necessary and he is pretty sure combining the slight dizziness he feels with the hot, humid air of a shower is not a good idea.

So he has decided to simply slip into a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms and a wide, washed out shirt which changing into has been enough of a task already. He is careful with his movements worried that any additional strain or abrupt movement will only worsen whatever it is that is ailing him. He is pretty sure it is some sort of stomach bug but he has neither thrown up nor has has any other problems that indicated a stomach flu. If it is something else, Rafa is unable to discern what that something might be.

It doesn't exactly matter to him right now anyway. What matters is to find a way to deal with the pain and discomfort of his predicament. The exhaustion that has been plaguing him for quite a while now today, makes it easy to decide. He wants to try to go to bed and get some rest, hopefully falling asleep quickly and waking up refreshed an pain free in the morning,

It takes less than thirty minutes of trying before Rafa realizes that it is no use. The room isn't exactly dark because he hasn't bothered to close the curtains and the city lights are shining in from the night. He doesn't mind, he actually prefers it like that. But it doesn't help to calm his mind. Instead his thoughts seem solely focused on the discomfort he feels and lying in bed – exhausted but unable to sleep – leaves him with little else to think about.

Apart from that it seems physically impossible to find a comfortable position. No matter how hard he tries, there is always something wrong with the way he lies, the way the pillow is positioned or the sheets tangle in between his legs. And every time he tosses and turns to find a better position, the discomfort he feels seems to increase. It is no use. Sleep is eluding him and he needs to find something else to occupy his mind with to think of something other than his current health issue. 

He decides to turn on the TV and grabs both the remote and his cell phone from the nightstand while simultaneously turning on the lamp located there. He finds a movie that seems to have been playing for at least half an hour judging from the progression. The movie is in English subtitled in Chinese but Rafa doesn't mind. He is too exhausted and preoccupied to follow the plot anyway. Taking a look at his phone he is surprised to find no new messages. After the way he has overheard his team members talking in the corridor he has expected at least one of them checking in on him. 

They are probably still at dinner, maybe strategizing how to handle him and his somewhat erratic behavior best. Even though he has told his physio not to bother and leave him be after dinner, Rafa is pretty sure there will be yet another visit before the night grows any later. Though this time he certainly will not get up to answer the door again, no matter how much knocking and coaxing there will be from whomever they will decide to send to check on him. If his condition will get any worse he can still ask for help or company via the phone. For now he is content to deal with the matter on his own.

The movie doesn't manage to capture his interest and it seems exhaustion is finally winning the better of him, lulling him to sleep. With both the TV and the lights still own, Rafa shifts his position to feel more comfortable and that turns out to be a really bad decision. A sudden, sharp, blinding pain right above his right hipbone takes his breath away and elicits a breathless moan from him. Following his instincts he curls up and presses a hand on the offending spot, momentarily dulling the pain though not by a lot.

It takes almost a full minute to get both his composure and his breathing under control. He has hoped the sudden pain has been due to a bad move he has made and that it will dull down once his body adjusts to the new position. But it doesn't happen. Instead it almost feels like the pain is getting worse instead of better. The earlier discomfort and the throbbing has turned into a rather sharp pain in his lower abdomen that no amount of ignoring, pressure or warmth does anything for or at least so it feels. 

Maybe it would be better if he had actually told his physio what is bothering him instead of sending him off without an explanation. Maybe it would be better to agree to the other man's proposal to send someone to look in on him later on tonight. But it is useless to think about that now. He has done neither of those things and is left to suffer the consequences now. He will have to deal with this on his own somehow.

Curling in on the painful spot and putting both hands on it for both warmth and pressure only helps marginally. The pain isn't exactly agonizing or unbearable but it is very, very disconcerting, especially combined with the fact that it simply isn't letting up and that he feels uncomfortably warm and somewhat flushed all of a sudden. Maybe he is just imagining things or maybe it is because he feels so bad, but Rafa is pretty sure it is neither of those things. Most definitely it is a fever and that is not a good sign. 

The one thing that is located in the bathroom he is sorely missing and that would be able to help him right now is a small bag of medication that – among other things – contains a couple of pain killers. But he is nowhere close to able to get up and get it, no matter how desperately he needs it. Even the thought of uncurling and getting himself out of bed to walk the few steps back and forth between the bed and bathroom hurts.

He lies like this for what feels like an eternity, feeling miserable and being very careful not to move even a fraction of an inch, afraid he will only worsen and increase the pain again if he does so. Rafa isn't sure how much time has passed. The TV is still on but that hardly helps establishing a timeline and his cell phone is nowhere to be seen. It feels like hours but that is probably just his mind playing tricks on him. 

He is all the more surprised when there is a soft knock on his door all of a sudden that makes him wince in surprise... and then grimace in pain as the agonizing stabbing in his lower abdomen seems to increase. There is another soft knock and then he can yet again hear his physio's muffled voice through the door. He still sounds worried... and little does the other man know how right he is to feel this way.

“Rafa, it's me again... We're all back from dinner and going to bed... I came to check on you. Are you alright?”

“No...”

Rafa knows his answer is nowhere near loud enough for the other man to hear it but he cannot muster the strength or the willpower for anything more but the desperate, pathetic sound that escapes him. Even drawing in the breath it takes to form the simple word, hurts. He can't hear it but he can almost feel Maymo lingering and then turning to leave. The thought of being left alone with this monumental and definitely scary problem threatens to bring tears to his eyes and even though he tells himself he is being silly and overly dramatic, it isn't easy to accept that his physio has disappeared, leaving him to fend for himself... 

A sudden idea pops into his mind. He has mused about the whereabouts of his cell phone earlier and only now realizes it still has to be close, somewhere behind him to be exact. Even though it is a monumental effort, he knows he needs to turn and grab it if he wants to ask for help. It is still better than to yell at the door or even try to get up to walk over and open it on his physio. Above all it is definitely less painful.

He is grateful the cell phone still lies on the bed where he has lazily dropped it after checking for messages almost an hour ago. Maybe he cannot call out to Maymo to let him know he is definitely not okay, but he can let him know this way. Grabbing for the phone blindly like it is a lifeline and increasing the pain to a sharp stabbing sensation this way, he is still rewarded with success. It takes a while to get his harsh breathing under control and his senses back in order but when he does, he is trying to be as effective as possible. Scrolling trough his contacts, he finds his physio among them easy enough. The message he sends is simple, short... and desperate.

'Help please.'

Maymo's response comes less than a minute later and that is pretty quick given the fact that his physio has been about to go to bed. It is just as short and precise and Rafa can practically feel the concern dripping off the other man even if it is just in a few written words. 

'What's wrong?'

'Stomach. Hurts. Can't come to the door. Need your help.'

It takes a lot of effort and energy to write the few simple words but as so many times before Rafa relies on his physio to find a solution for relieving the pain. Whether it is muscle cramps, physical exhaustion, the damn tendinitis or this elusive and rather hard to deal with stomach pain he is sure Maymo will find some way to help him. All he has to do is have some faith...

He isn't wrong to believe in the other man because it takes less than ten minutes before there is the familiar clicking sound that accompanies the key card used on the door and seconds later Rafa can hear the other man's voice, calling for him and sounding rather desperate and just a tad more worried than he has the last time when they have come face to face with one another. It doesn't take long for Maymo to find him curled up in the bedroom and obviously the physio doesn't like what he sees... 

“Rafa? What the hell... You look even worse than before!”

“I feel worse than before...”

It is a simple statement and it is ridiculous how much strength and effort it takes to get the few simple words out. Maymo has obviously picked up on it, concern and a certain amount of fear creasing his brow and slightly raising the pitch of his voice. He steps up to the bed, very obviously unsure of what to do next. He doesn't dare sit down, doesn't dare touch Rafa – afraid to aggravate whatever it is that is ailing him. There is a certain sharpness to his words and an equal amount of guilt and self-loathing.

“I knew I shouldn't have believed you when you told me you where fine before!”

“I... I'm sorry...”

“Don't be! Just tell me now... What's wrong?! What happened?”

His physio poses a rather difficult question. One Rafa isn't exactly sure how to answer. He is almost sure he has done nothing to bring this amount of pain and general misery upon himself. That in itself is both disconcerting and frightening. Because it means he has no explanation whatsoever to what is wrong with him. His impulse is to shrug his shoulders in response but he thinks better of it. Any additional movement is pure agony right now. It is hard enough already to participate in the conversation and try to keep both an even voice and a level head in the process.

“I.. I don't know. It feels like a stomach virus... but way, way worse. More painful. And without the nausea and vomiting...”

“How long?”

“With the pain this bad? I don't know... Maybe twenty minutes after we spoke last. But I felt sort of weak and there was some throbbing and general discomfort before that..”

It looks suspiciously like the word 'idiot' is lingering on Maymo's lips or maybe it is something else entirely... something worse. But he doesn't say anything, just keeps standing there right next to the bed, arms crossed in front of his chest, expression grim and his face lined with worry. It is not the help Rafa has hoped for and instead of feeling better and relieved about the support of his visitor, the conversation has tired him even more and the pain is just as debilitating and relentless as before.

“I could really use some pain relief...”

“Yes! Yes, of course. I'll get you some. Bathroom, right?”

Rafa nods slowly and Maymo hurries to disappear into the adjacent room. He can hear the other man rummage through his stuff and there is urgency and hectic to the sounds that come from the bathroom. Obviously Maymo doesn't want to leave Rafa waiting for a second longer than necessary. When he returns, he holds the required pill bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He steps up to the bed again, looking questioningly between Rafa and the items in his hands.

“Will this work?”

“I'll try. I'm not sure I can keep anything down though...”

“But you said you don't feel nauseous.”

“No. But I don't trust myself with much of anything right now. I just want to sleep... and for the pain to go away...”

Maymo nods gravely and hands Rafa both the glass and the bottle. He lingers a moment longer, the back of his hand briefly making contact with Rafa's forehead who has to stop himself from leaning into the sudden touch. His physio's hands are cool to the touch and have a soothing quality. His tone of voice however is still grave and anything but reassuring.

“You're pretty warm...”

“I feel a little flushed...” 

There is no response but there is nothing much to say about the fact that there seems to be at least a mild fever lingering. His physio watches him closely as Rafa takes the pills and finally seems relaxed enough to settle on the edge of the bed now that his charge and friend seems sufficiently taken care of. Of course the pills aren't helping right away and Rafa lacks the energy to keep his eyes open and his focus on the other man any longer.

Talking for the extended period of time and trying to keep a brave face in the process, has taken a lot out of Rafa but it has also distracted him somewhat. Lying in silence now, he pulls his legs up a little tighter and presses both hands on the tender spot where the pain is worse yet again. They stay like this for a while, Rafa isn't exactly sure for how long but the one thing he can say is that his physio seems restless and still worried. Rafa cannot blame him – his current posture probably doesn't inspire a lot of confidence in his well-being. 

“Is it helping? Is the pain any better?”

“A little.”

Rafa has opened his eyes at the question and from the way Maymo looks at him, they both know Rafa is telling half the truth at best. Evaluating the progress since he has taken the pills, the pain is just marginally better. Having somebody here to talk to and trying to arrange his body in a way that eases the pain at least a little bit has helped more than the actual painkillers have. His physio knows him well enough to not look convinced at his answer but Rafa doesn't give him a chance to call him out on it, changing the subject instead. 

“What... what do you think this is?” 

“I don't know... I can guess but that's all it will be, a guess...This is way above my pay grade, man... I'm here for muscles and tendons, not for something internal like this. It can be a dozen different things... I think we should tell the rest of the team... and get a doctor to take a look at you.”

“Now?”

“You're in pain right now and I'm pretty sure you have a fever as well. It seems to be getting worse instead of better and I can't help with something like this. So, yes. I think you should see a doctor asap.”

It turns out it is easier said than done to get a doctor at this hour of the night. In between the pain, the misery and the desperate effort to find somebody to help and support him, Rafa has sort of lost track of time. But he is sure it is past midnight already. Not exactly the best time to find a medical professional to come here... What is easier and both heartwarming and surprising is how quickly Maymo has managed to get the rest of Rafa's team out of bed and to his room, ready and willing to help.

Benito has gone to talk with the staff at the reception desk, acquiring their assistance, which leaves his physio, his trainer and his father with Rafa at his hotel room. They are all concerned and of course they want to know exactly how he is doing, how his condition has developed and if there is anything they can do to help, to make him feel better. Luckily Maymo has the decency and good sense to do most of the talking. It is not meant as an insult. Rafa is simply relieved to have them all here and it helps him relax, though just a little bit.

He only listens with half an ear as Maymo recaps what has happened earlier tonight and how things have progressed for Rafa from there. They are speaking in hushed tones but the tension is almost palpable. Unfortunately there is nothing reassuring he could have added to the conversation. Maymo has provided him with a second dose of painkillers before informing the rest of the team but all they have managed to accomplish is to take the edge off. They do little to nothing to eliminate the pain...

Rafa would have liked to be able to sit up a little straighter in bed, put up a brave face and give his team and family a smile and a couple of encouraging words to let them know he will be okay. But he doesn't feel like he will be okay and just lying here, curled up and fighting through the simple task of lying here without moving and taking even breaths in the process is the extend of what he can achieve right now.

His father has broken away from the little group lingering close to the doorway to his bedroom and settled himself on the edge of the bed, worry so clearly radiating of off him that it is almost painful to watch. Rafa gave him a tired smile and watched as his father reached out a hand, patted his son's knee and tried for a smile of his own that never quite reached his eyes.

“You don't look so good, son...”

“I've had better.”

“Do the pills help at all?”

“Not much.”

Rafa considers to lie for just a split second, if only it is just to make his father feel better about the whole situation. But he decides against it. His father deserves better than this and apart from the moral component to it all, he is simply unable to tell a convincing lie right now. His father would never believe him, if he told him he is feeling a little better now. His own appearance would definitely betray him.

There seem to be words of comfort on the tip of his father's tongue and a sadness to his expression that Rafa cannot quite make sense of. The older man however never gets a chance to speak his mind. Their conversation is cut short by the arrival of Benito, who has returned from his visit to the reception desk, wearing a rather grim expression on his face. Unfortunately he doesn't exactly bring good news with him. 

“I spoke to the staff at reception and though they tried to be helpful... they aren't actually that much help. They told me there isn't much they can do for us right now. They have a doctor on call but not during the night... and trying to reach a tournament official turned up no result. They offered to call an ambulance though...”

The proposal seems to linger in the air and it is obvious the rest of his team expects some sort of answer from Rafa. It is his health that is in question here after all. The idea isn't all bad. There is definitely something wrong with him and he desperately wishes for some pain relief but he is reluctant as well. There is still a good chance this is something minor, something a doctor's visit in the morning will clear up. And on top of that there is the added attention going to the hospital in an ambulance will draw to him. He really doesn't want anyone of his extended family to find out about a minor health scare via Twitter or Facebook or some other social media page because somebody has taken a picture of him, late at night on the way to a hospital... He shakes his head no and luckily there is no protest or discussion upon his decision.

“Alright... I guess we have to wait until morning then. Their morning shift comes in at seven, they asked me to talk to the manager again then. They can send for someone on call by the hotel or we can try and reach someone from the tournament... Either way, there should be someone here to take a look at you around eight.”

“Okay.”

Rafa tries his hardest to sound positive and reassuring but even in his own ears his response sounds subdued and defeated. Eight in the morning isn't so bad... at least that is what he tries to tell himself. He still isn't sure what the exact time is, but he knows it is no later than two in the morning, which means that a doctor's visit is still at least six hours away... He could change his mind. He could decide to go to the hospital. But then again he isn't deathly ill or running a high fever. He feels uncomfortable, he feels weak and he is in pain but he doesn't exactly feel sick... 

He doesn't want to alert the media and bother a bunch of medical professionals only to find out he has eaten something funky somewhere in between home, Kazakhstan and China that has caused a severe stomach ache... He probably will feel very stupid and embarrassed if that turns out to be the case. The pain certainly is bad but it is not unbearable and he has finally found a position in bed that helps eliviate it to some extent.

His family and team members are still lingering, neither one of them sure what to do next. It isn't like there is much any of them actually can do. All the plans for a doctor's visit in the morning have been made, Rafa has been provided with everything he needs for the remainder of the night and they are all just a phone call away. There is no need for any of them to stay... and that is exactly what he tells them.

“You should go back to your rooms. I have everything I need. No need to ruin your sleep as well...”

“I'll stay.”

Before anyone else has a chance to protest or comment, his father has already made up his mind, ignoring his son's suggestion completely. There are shared looks among the rest of his team and they silently seem to agree that leaving a family member with Rafa is the best choice. The only one who seems a little preoccupied is his physio. Rafa watches the younger man gently put a hand on his father's arm and motion for him to follow outside into the main room. They take a few steps away together seconds later, which leaves them out of sight but not out of earshot. Rafa doesn't even have to strain to follow the hushed conversation.

“Please don't try to convince him.”

“How... Why will you say that?”

“Because I know that look of determination on your face. It's a family trait. I know you don't like his decision...”

“You're right. I don't like it... It's the wrong thing to do.”

“Look, I know you're worried...”

“I'm his father! Of course I'm worried.”

“I understand that. But he's all grown-up. This was and still is his decision to make and I don't think it will be helpful if we don't show support...” 

Rafa has to smile at the little debate going on in the adjacent room the two other men are sure he isn't listening in on. Maymo trying to be calm, collected and level headed, while his father is all emotion and worry. But from the way the conversation ends, it seems his physio has actually been able to talk some sense into his father and Rafa is grateful for that. The last thing he wants is to explain a decision he himself isn't exactly sure is the right one. The one thing he knows he needs right now is some rest and any further discussion certainly will not bring that to him. His father however doesn't seem entirely convinced but he doesn't push the matter either.

“I don't plan on being anything but supportive. Now go and get some sleep. We'll be fine.”

The rest of his team has left to their respective hotel rooms, albeit reluctantly and assuring him that he can call on them if there is anything they can help with, no matter the hour of the night. It has taken quite a while before they have said their goodbyes, have wished him well and have told him time and again that they are here for him no matter the hour or the need. Finally having them all out of his room and the conversations finished, Rafa feels exhausted.

His father however has not relented so easily. He seems determined to stay for the remainder of the night and Rafa has decided not to fight him on it. He has no strength left for that anyway. And it isn't a bad idea after all. It is better than to be all alone for the rest of the night, battling through the pain and uncertainty all on his own. Even if there is little to nothing his father can do for him, his presence still has a soothing effect. It is not without a downside though because there is no denying that his father is worried and that mainly causes a lot of silly babbling at the moment.

His father has settled down on the edge of the bed, but he doesn't seem to feel very comfortable sitting there. He is fidgeting, nervously bouncing on the heels of his feet and causing a soft ripple of the mattress that is very uncomfortable to deal with, given Rafa's current predicament. But he can't blame the older man and he certainly doesn't have the heart to tell him. He doesn't have to though. His father suddenly gets up, turns around and gives his son a look that radiates both worry and the will to do whatever it takes to help.

“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need? Some more water maybe?”

“I'm fine.”

“Try to say that again with a straight face.”

There is no humor to the tight smile his father gives him. He hasn't meant it as a joke or as an insult. It is a simple fact that Rafa is unable to come up with enough determination to formulate even a barely convincing white lie to make the older man feel better. His father still seems nervous and unable to accept the fact that there is little to nothing he can do to make his son feel any better. But he doesn't give up on the idea so easily, though it seems he is slowly becoming desperate in his ideas.

“I can find a book... Your mother used to do that when you are sick as a child, you know... Read to you until you fell asleep.”

“I'm not a child anymore.”

“You may not be our precious little boy any more, you may be all grown up but one thing is for certain – no matter how old you get, you will always be our child.”

There is a gentle and fond smile on his father's lips and Rafa is sure the older man remembers times past, when he has been younger, very much more a child to his parents than he is now. It is nice to see his father like this, but still it isn't a reaction Rafa can appreciate right now. He is simply too tired, too exhausted... Even talking to his father like this takes more energy from him than he has to give. 

“It's okay, Papa. You don't have to entertain me. I have no energy left for that anyway. I just want to sleep.”

“But you can't...”

“No, I can't. Not like this. It hurts...”

“Are you sure you don't want another dose of those painkillers?”

“I can't. Too early.”

“This is awful, son... Having to watch you go through this. It's painful...”

“You don't have to stay...”

“Of course I'll stay! I'm your father, I'm supposed to take care of you. I just wish there is more I can do.”

“I'll be fine... I just need sleep.”

It is the most blatant way his father could have told Rafa to reconsider the idea of going to the hospital without actually saying the words. But in the end the older man keeps quiet and Rafa allows his eyes to fall shut. The presence of a family member he trusts right next to him, grounds him and even though neither his father's presence nor the painkiller do much to alleviate the stomach pain, he still feels just a tiny bit more relaxed. Or at least he does feel that way until his father seems no longer able to take seeing him like this and engages him in a conversation Rafa does not want to have again.

“I still think we should take you to a hospital. This is not getting any better...”

“I can't... I can barely move enough to turn over.”

“All the more reason to go and have a doctor take a proper look at you!”

”There will be a doctor. In the morning...”

“But you're sick and hurting now!”

His father is passionate about his argument, emotional to the point of his voice trembling as he speaks and Rafa wishes he would be able to come up with the same kind of vehemence. He certainly doesn't have the energy or the willpower to engage in a discussion with his father and explain his motivation to him. It is hard enough to concentrate on the conversation for any extended period of time already. Of course he is glad for the company, for not being alone but the last thing he wants, is to use even more of what little energy he has left to make his case and explain himself and his decision. Luckily enough his father either seems to sense Rafa's discomfort at the topic or suddenly remembers what Maymo has asked of him earlier. Either way he does back paddle. 

“I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean to upset you...”

“It's okay...”

“No, it's not... This is hard enough on you already. I shouldn't push... I just want to make sure you're absolutely certain this is the right thing to do.”

He could tell his father no. He could let him in on the plain and simple fact that he has no idea if he has made the right decision. He could let him know how weak and scared and exhausted he feels and how much he simply wishes for the pain to stop and sleep to finally claim him. But he can't. Once he allows that dam to open even a fraction, it will burst and all his fear and misery will pour out. It will not help him, it will only worsen his father's worry and in the end they will still be left with an impossible decision... So instead of letting go, Rafa forces himself to keep his emotions in check.

“Yes.”

They sit together for a while longer, Rafa managing minutes of keeping his eyes closed, of breathing through the damn pain and feeling at least a tiny bit relaxed while his father sits next to him. There is a comfortable silence between them now and at some point – Rafa has no idea how much time has passed – he can hear his father stifle a yawn next to him. Rafa blinks his eyes open, looking up at the older man. 

“You should go to bed as well. Get some sleep...”

“I'll stay in the main room. The couch looks quite comfortable...”

Rafa lets out an almost inaudible sigh. He knows his father means well, but he is worried for the older man. The couch in the main room is anything but comfortable and he is pretty sure his father will not try to go to sleep anyway. He will just sit there in the main room and listen closely for any signs of discomfort from his son. But arguing with him is not something Rafa can do right now and as long as his father at least tries to get some rest, Rafa is okay with this arrangement. He nods softly, trying to give his father an encouraging smile. The older man still takes his time before he leaves, arranging a bottle of water, the pill bottle of painkillers and whatever else his son can possibly need to get through the night on the nightstand next to the bed. When he is finally done and in the doorway to the adjacent room, he turns once more, the smile on his lips not reaching his eyes at all. 

“Just call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Rafa has nodded in agreement. But he hasn't called even once of course. He is glad he has finally managed to convince his father to lie down and try to get some rest. There is nothing the older man can do anyway. Rafa can hear his father in the main room – tossing and turning for a while as he tries to find a comfortable position on the couch. When his father is finally settled and a soft snoring is audible from the adjacent room at some point later that night, it actually helps. Hearing his father sleep, hearing that he is actually resting, helps Rafa calm down in turn as well. He is still in pain, still feeling awful, still feverish and unable to find a comfortable position in bed. But he feels safe... and at some point during the night he finally dozes off...

It is early when the doctor his team has requested to come and see him arrives at Rafa's hotel room. Waking his son up – who is finally mercifully dozing and in an albeit fitful slumber – is the hardest thing Rafa's father has been forced to do in quite a while. His son is still pale, probably still in pain judging from the expression on his face and rest is probably the very best thing for him right now. But they also need to make sure he is okay and to finally find out what is ailing him. Only the doctor can do that.

“Rafael, the doctor is here...”

It obviously isn't a very deep sleep because even the soft, gentle voice of his father finds his way to Rafa almost immediately and he blinks his eyes open. He hasn't really slept, has still been dimly aware of his surroundings and seeing the unfamiliar face of the doctor close by actually is a relief. At least now there is somebody there who can explain what the hell is wrong with him and has him feeling this bad for more than half a day now.

The doctor is friendly and efficient – professional without actually seeming detached. Rafa has been through enough doctor's visits to know the routine - checking vital signs, taking the temperature, asking a couple of questions about the time line and the nature of the illness and pain. Finally the physician moves to the general area where Rafa has told him the pain is located. But even expecting the poking and prodding that follows, Rafa can't hide back a wince of pain – surprisingly enough not when the doctor pushes down, but when he lets go again. A grimace of pain appears on Rafa's face and the doctor mumbles an apology in turn. Taking calm and even breaths is quickly becoming an impossibility and Rafa holds on to the bed sheet tightly as the doctor continues with his ministrations. He doesn't take long, that much is good about the examination, but when he is done, the expression on his face is anything but promising. 

“Well, it's not just some stomach bug or food poisoning, I can tell you that much.”

Rafa isn't exactly sure how to respond. Mainly he feels... disappointed. This is not the answer he has been hoping for. What he has wished to hear is a definitive answer to what the problem is and for the doctor to prescribe him something that will finally take the pain, the flushed feeling and the fatigue away. The doctor's gaze roamed the room, wandering from one of them to the next until his eyes finally rested on Rafa again. 

“I really would advise for you to go to a hospital and have a set of proper tests...”

*#*

Rafa has a sardonic smile on his face when he finishes his tale and Roger can't blame him. All that pain he has put himself through, a whole sleepless night on painkillers that have done little to nothing to help him, only to see a doctor the next morning who isn't exactly able to help and who tells him to do the one thing his team has asked and debated to do the entire evening before. In the end it's a night wasted on pain and misery, that Rafa could have spend finding out what is wrong with him in the first place. 

“We went to the hospital on Sunday and they did the tests. They said it was appendicitis but it is not so bad. Could be worse. I have not been throwing up and the fever has not been that bad and the antibiotics have already helped. The pain is mostly gone and so is the fever. I still feel sick and weak but that's because I've barely been doing anything since I came here. I have the treatment here today and I'll go to the hospital again tomorrow. They'll give me the antibiotics again like this and then there'll be more tests and I get pills to take to continue with the antibiotic treatment. That... that's the plan.”

„I don't understand. If your appendix is inflamed... shouldn't you be having surgery?“

„I will. But not right now. Right now I have the antibiotics. They will get the infection under control. They already do their job. I feel better. It's not a solution, just a chance to delay. I will have surgery later. For now they can't do it anyway. It is either one or the other. With the antibiotics there is too much risk. So I will do it later...” 

“Is this what the doctors in the hospital advised?!”

Roger sounds exasperated and Rafa can understand that. He isn't sure he actually wants to tell Roger about the discussion he had with the staff and doctors at the hospital. Of course they haven't been happy with the idea, of course the standard course of action with an inflamed appendix is to have it removed – preferably right away. But if there is one thing Rafa can say about his life with absolute certainty, it is that standard solutions are not what he needs. This time is no different and even though it might be an uncommon treatment option, it is still an option. It's not like he is risking his health... He is simply using every option available to him to fit his treatment plan into his schedule. Maybe that's not exactly reasonable, but it's not irresponsible either. 

*#*

*5th October*

Going to a hospital on a Sunday, Rafa has somehow expected more of a problem to find a qualified doctor who at least speaks English and above all that he has expected tests and their results to take time. But this is China after all, this is not a Christian country and the fact that it's a Sunday seems to matter little to nothing to hospital staff. Of course there is the added bonus that he isn't just some random patient and the clinic the doctor has recommended is a private one. They know who they are dealing with and of course they are inclined to help him the best way possible.

At least somebody has finally taken pity on him and has mercifully provided him with an IV administered painkiller that actually helps. It has made the tests a lot more bearable but it has done nothing to quell the exhaustion and tiredness Rafa still desperately tries to fight. He's in a private room now, his father by his side and they are both waiting for a doctor to arrive and tell them what the test results have shown. The doctor shows up a little while later with a clipboard and a detached smile on his face. But at least he finally has an answer to the health related question. 

“The test results show an infection to the intestinal tract. Appendicitis to be exact. It's acute but mild, which is good of course. But it's still an infection that needs to be treated. We don't have any open spots in our schedule today, but we can schedule surgery for tomorrow early in the afternoon.”

“Wait... What?”

“Surgery. You will need to have it.”

The doctor is patient with him but the smile on his face suddenly looks very strained. Obviously he has not expected any questions or discussions to arise from this. He has come here to tell Rafa what the problem is and how they plan to deal with it. Surgery however is not an option Rafa is particularly happy with. At least not here and now. He is half a world away from home in a clinic full of doctors and nurses he has never dealt with before, with only his father as the only family member around and he simply doesn't want to have the surgery done under those circumstances. Not if there is an alternative available. Ignoring the doctor for the moment, Rafa focuses his attention on his father, hoping for the older man to understand and to support him. 

“I don't want surgery!”

“Please, son. Be reasonable. This is not a big deal. It's a very common procedure. No need to be afraid.”

“I'm not! It's not that. I know I need to have surgery. I will. But not here. Not half a world away from home. Not with the tournament starting... I can't. I don't want to... Please?”

Pleading with his father like this puts an almost pained expression on the man's face. He's worried and of course he wants an easy and quick solution, making sure that Rafa is okay again. He can understand that, but it's simply not what Rafa wants or needs right now. He knows he can make this decision on his own, he knows he can make it against what his father or anybody else on his team advises or thinks. But he wants his father's blessing, he wants the older man's support. His father doesn't exactly look convinced. But he seems to realize that Rafa has asked for his opinion, for his help more out of courtesy than out of actual necessity. So in the end he nods in an – albeit reluctant – agreement and Rafa faces the doctor again. 

“Are there any other options?”

*#*

“Now is not the right time.“

Rafa finishes his tale with those few, rather anticlimatic words and Roger is sure he has heard it wrong, blames it on the the initial shock of seeing Rafa like this – the illness showing so prominently and the IV needle sticking from his arm. Then he is sure it is the accent or some kind of problem with the language barrier. After all Rafa can't truly mean what he has just said. He can't mean to tell Roger that he actually plans to wait with the surgery. There can't be anything more important but his health on the Spaniard's mind!

„What on earth is that supposed to mean?!“

„There's a tournament going on, Roger.“

„Not for you it isn't.“

„Why not?“

This time Roger is absolutely sure he has heard it wrong. Or maybe Rafa is making a very macabre joke. Either way he can't mean to compete. From the way it looks, Rafa has barely been vertical ever since his arrival here in Shanghai and he pretty much looks like a mild gust of wind can push him over if he will try to stand. There is no way he can do anything that is even remotely related to physical activity and he certainly can't play competitive tennis on the level needed for a Masters tournament. It's ridiculous and above all else it's irresponsible. As stubborn as Rafa tends to be sometimes, even he has to see the truth in that. 

„You can't honestly mean that... You... you actually want to compete?! Like this?! You're barely even mobile!“

„I feel a lot better already. The medication helps. I feel tired and dizzy and a little weak but I'll be fine.“

All Roger does in response is shake his head rather vehemently. Of course he has no idea how Rafa feels at the moment compared to two nights ago but he certainly doesn't look like he will be feeling okay any time soon. He looks sick – very much so. And if he looks this sick now, Roger doesn't even want to imagine what Saturday night and Sunday must have been like for Rafa. He doesn't ask though. Maybe he should. But he is too focused on talking Rafa out of this ridiculous idea of competing to actually care to ask after the other man's well-being. 

„You can't do this.“

„Of course I can. It's not dangerous. Maybe it's a little uncommon but not risky. I spoke to my doctors back at home and they told me I can do this. And in the end it's my decision. I came all the way here. I won't just go home.“

„You're not 'just' going home. You're going home because you're sick. You can't compete when you're sick. Even if some doctor halfway across the world who hasn't even examined you, tells you what you want to hear! You shouldn't!“

Roger's voice has gained both pitch and volume by now and Rafa closes his eyes and sighs ever so softly. He doesn't seem to like the emotional and rather harsh turn their conversation has taken and has Roger been a little less worried and emotionally invested into getting Rafa to agree with his assessment of the situation, he probably will have realized that fighting with the younger man is very much contradictory to his health. But he doesn't. He's simply too worked up. 

“Please don't yell. I'm too tired for an argument.”

“If you're too tired for an argument, you're definitely too tired to play a match. Why can't you just be reasonable?”

A pained expression crosses Rafa's face and then he turns very pale all of a sudden. It's the moment Roger finally realizes he has made a mistake and he feels a painful stab go right through his heart. The last thing he has wanted, is for Rafa to feel even worse because of his visit. All Roger wants is for the younger man to understand how deeply worried he is about him. Roger steps up to the bed, sits down on the edge it and reaches out a hand to hold onto Rafa's free arm. His voice is trembling again, this time with the edge of guilt to it. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make it worse.”

“It's not. It's okay. Sometimes it still hurts a little. But it's a lot better already. I'm just tired. The medication makes me... Why... why don't you just stay with me for a little while?”

“Okay...”

Roger feels he should argue some more, should try to convince Rafa once more. But he knows no matter what he does or says, he will not convince Rafa. The younger man's mind is set on doing this and he will stay stubborn even if it's the wrong decision to make. Trying to deter him will only cement Rafa's resolve... All Roger can do is hope that Rafa's team and the doctors managing his condition have some pull with him and actually do what is best for him. Everything else is in Rafa's hands and Roger trusts Rafa.. at least most of the time he does... 

*#*

*24th October*

The quarterfinal in Basel feels way too much like that one match Rafa has played in Shanghai. He's not able to do much of anything out on the court and he loses way too easily to a seemingly weaker opponent. Maybe it's just a fluke but Roger is sure it's due to the last remnants of that dormant infection that is still settled deep in the younger man's intestinal tract. It's not like the appendicitis has magically gone away. It's still there, simply kept at bay, and it still needs to be properly dealt with. 

Roger goes to talk to Rafa once more after he has lost. They are on a fragile common ground at the moment, have made up and have acted civil around one another without talking about Rafa's health again. But now with the tournament at an end, Roger wants a guarantee that Rafa will have his health problem taken care of. He hasn't seen Rafa's press conference. Had he seen it, he would already know that Rafa has announced that the season is over for him and that he will have his surgery at the beginning of November. But Roger would be here at Rafa's hotel room even if he had seen the media interview. He feels he deserves to hear the news from Rafa. 

The younger man is in the process of packing when Roger arrives and his movement still looks a little slow and uncoordinated as he moves around the room. He looks tired, a little paler than he did on that Friday when he had arrived here and worry is spiking within Roger again. He can't help it. It simply happens. This time – unlike Friday night – the answers Rafa has for him are a lot more satisfactory though. 

„Will you go home now?“

„Yes.“

„Will you have the surgery?“

„Yes. In two weeks.“

Roger nods slowly. He appreciates it and is glad there is a plan, a schedule now. Two weeks is still way too much time in his opinion but at least there is a date for the surgery and after that Rafa will most definitely be okay again. It's only a little consolation but consolation none the less. Roger knows he won't stop worrying until the infected piece of intestine is finally out of Rafa's body and will never bother or pain him ever again. But now he at least knows when that will be. 

„Good... Will... will you call and let me know how you are once the surgery is done?“

Rafa raises an eyebrow at him. Obviously – after all their fighting and arguing – Rafa hasn't expected that kind of a request from Roger. Or maybe it's exactly the other way around and the younger man feels insulted because Roger asks something of him that Rafa would have done without a second thought anyway. What ever it is, Roger feels the need to clarify... and to apologize in the process. 

„Look, I'm sorry about the way I reacted to you being here. I... I was out of line and I never meant to be condescending or hurtful. I was simply worried about you. I still am.“

„I'll be fine, Roger. It's a very simple surgery.“

„I know. But still... I'm worried. So... you'll call?“

Repeating himself like this probably isn't the best idea, but Rafa doesn't look annoyed. If at all it seems he feels Roger's worry is kind of endearing. It definitely is not entirely unwarranted, at least that is how the Swiss feels. Maybe the surgery is indeed routine but there is no such thing as a surgery without any risk factors to it. Roger knows he won't feel calm until he hears Rafa's voice telling him everything has gone alright and that he's feeling fine... Rafa smiles at him – a small but reassuring and fond smile. 

“Yes. I'll call.”


	9. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this idea just came to me while listening to Ed Sheeran's "Perfect" and having a glass of really good red wine along with it.  
> So all complaints go to whomever sold me the wine... and to Mr. Sheeran of course.  
> All kudos however go to me :D  
> And it seems Rafa getting married is sort of a theme for me these days still. Maybe it is. I mean come on! He has been with the same girl for over a decade. Marry her already *rollseyes*...
> 
> It's sort of a trial version - something I always wanted to do like this but never dared before.  
> It's more like a screenplay than an OS.  
> And it's unbetaed...
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> <>°O°<>

***Manacor – Late summer of 2020***

It's been a glorious late summer afternoon – the perfect venue, weather and place for a wedding. Roger has to give it to Meri – and Rafa by extension as he is sure the younger man has only been marginally involved – they have planned this wedding perfectly. And they have chosen a good host. Tomeu has introduced the two of them and their first dance less than half a minute ago – first in Mallorquin, then in Castellano and finally in a very accentuated English – for the benefit of the non-Spanish-speaking guests. 

When the music starts and the newlywed couple takes to the dancefloor – all happy smiles and only having eyes for one another - Roger is sure he has heard the song before. It takes until the lyrics start that he recognizes it and he is surprised to realize the song the couple has chosen as the first one to dance to is not a Spanish one, but it's in English. It's slow and romantic and definitely perfect for the occasion... Which is almost ironic given the fact that the title of the song is 'perfect' as well.

_I found a love for me_  
_Darling just dive right in_  
_And follow my lead_  
_Well I found a girl beautiful and sweet  
_I never knew you were the someone waiting for me_ _

__

Mirka appears seemingly out of nowhere and drops down on the free spot next to him. She had been gone this past half hour, taking the chance to mingle, meet up with a couple of the other people invited and get a chance to chat. Roger hasn't wanted any of that. Being here in the first place has been a decision he has struggled with. In the end Mirka has convinced him. But that doesn't change the fact that he still feels like an intruder here... but his wife is there to ease his worries and care for him – as she has always done... As Meri will do for Rafa from now on – right now and for the rest of his life. That thought puts a sad frown on Roger's face for now reason he can really put his finger on and of course his wife picks up on it almost immediately, giving him a sympathetic and slightly worried smile.

„Penny for your thoughts?“

„They must have worked on this... A lot.“

“The dance you mean?”

“Yeah. Just look at them. I mean Meri has always been graceful, but Rafa.”

“He has always had a lot of body control.”

“On a tennis court perhaps. Not on a dance floor.”

“They are doing well, I think. And it's not like they are the first couple to need practice for their first dance as newlyweds. So did we.“

„Did not.“

„Of course we did. You're a terrible dancer.“

„Am not!“

„Well your worse than him, that much is for sure.“

„He's Spanish. Isn't rhythm like that supposed to be in his blood?“

„It's a waltz, Roger. Not salsa.“

_'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love_  
_Not knowing what it was_  
_I will not give you up this time_  
_But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own_  
_And in your eyes you're holding mine_

„Same difference.“

“It's not the... You're deflecting aren't you? You're trying to weasel your way out of a proper answer and I almost fell for it... Let's try this again – penny for your thoughts?“

„I don't know why he invited me... us here tonight.“

„Because you are his friend and I am your plus one.“

“You really think that's it?”

“What else would it be?”

„You think she picked the song.“

„You're doing it again... Never mind. I'll indulge. For your sake. I think they chose it together.“

„Isn't the wedding supposed to be all about the bride? At least that is what you told me. Repeatedly. It's why we had that godawful...“

„Careful now...“

„Beautiful classic love song for our first dance.“

„Perfect safe there, hon.“

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms_  
_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song_  
_When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath_  
_But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight_

„So?“

„So what?“

„You really think this was a joined decision?“

„I do.“

„Why?“

„Because Meri is different from me. They are different.“

„Everything will be different from now on.“

„You don't know that.“

„Of course I do.“

„Nothing changed when we got married...“

„Yeah, but you just said it. Rafa and Meri are different.“

_Well I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know_  
_She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home_  
_I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets_  
_To carry love, to carry children of our own_

„That is why you have that sour look on your face! You think he invited us here to say goodbye. You think this... this is the end?“

„Why else would he want me here?“

„To share this very special day with you?“

„I didn't... We didn't.“

„Yes. But as we have just established – these two are different from us. Our wedding was about me... Well mostly anyway. And I didn't want Rafa at our wedding.“

„Why not. You never told me...“

„I feared a 'Shrek' moment...“

„You feared Rafa barreling down the aisle yelling 'I object'?!“

„Well in my nightmares he does it in Spanish...

„Seems Rafa and Meri had no such worries with me.“

„We weren't invited to the church wedding, hon. Only to the reception.“

„True at that...“

„So they're not that different after all...“

„No, not that different. I hope not...“

_We are still kids, but we're so in love_  
_Fighting against all odds_  
_I know we'll be alright this time_  
_Darling, just hold my hand_  
_Be my girl, I'll be your man_  
_I see my future in your eyes_

____

„You're afraid of losing him... That's it, isn't it? You're afraid now that they are married Meri will put her foot down about the... uniqueness of your relationship?!“

„It's not Meri I'm worried about.“

„I don't understand...“

„Rafa has never – not EVER – done anything half-heartedly. Not once in his life. He has always gone at everything with the utmost passion, the utmost love and conviction. Being married, having a family... He certainly won't be any different about that.”

“He loves you. And you love him. Being married hasn't changed that. It hasn't for you. Why would that change things for Rafa.”

“You pointed it out already – he's different.”

“Not that different. I believe that is what I said.”

“So you think...”

“You'll be fine. All of us, we will be fine. And THAT is the only reason we are here tonight. It's the reason we have been invited. He won't leave you, Roger. This – all of this – it's a show of trust and appreciation and love, not a chance to get rid of you.”

“You believe that?”

“With all my heart.”

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms_  
_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song_  
_When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful_  
_I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight_  
_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms_  
_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song_

At this point Tomeu's voice interrupts the song for just a moment and Roger knows from experience what Rafa's best and oldest friend is about to say – to ask. He knows from experience because it has been no different at his own wedding. And judging from the cheeky look in Mirka's eyes he already knows what he is in for, what he has set himself up for by announcing the two of them had never needed as much practice as he supposes Rafa and Meri have. He doesn't mind though. Mirka has put his mind at ease. She deserves a treat for that. True to Roger's assumptions Tomeu's voice sounds over the speakers – once again first in Mallorquin, then in Castellano and then in English. Mirka smirks at him, holding out a hand for him to hold onto. Maybe he should let her lead... She has done it so perfectly this evening so far. 

“At this point we would like to invite everyone and anyone who want to join in to come to the dance floor.“

„Care for a dance, dear husband.“

„Glady, my lovely wife.“

_I have faith in what I see_  
_Now I know I have met an angel in person_  
_And she looks perfect_  
_I don't deserve this_  
_You look perfect tonight_

\- FIN -


	10. Conduct unbecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMwe7WJK17M) to go along with the oneshot.
> 
> Unbetaed and rather depressing. Hope you like it anyway!
> 
> <>°O°<>

It's all about timing. In life. In tennis. In love... It's not a secret exactly but it has never been that important. Now it is – acutely and painstakingly so. Rafa knows that now, has never been more aware of it than he is in this moment right now when he tries to hide himself away from the world. If only the timing had been different... This whole fucked up mess would have taken a different turn. But the press had asked Roger first... and he had gotten Rafa into this whole mess in the first place. 

Rafa understand the conundrum Roger has been faced with and he knows the Swiss hasn't meant to get him into trouble. He has simply been taken by surprise and has been blindsided by a very much unexpected question. After all it has been a post-match press conference that has been supposed to be all about tennis and the match Roger had won only minutes earlier. But it had quickly veered off into a tabloid ridden questionnaire and Roger had panicked. It was as simple as that.

The press conference – those 30 to 40 seconds of it – had gone viral all over the internet pretty much the minute they had happened and Rafa had watched them over and over and over again. Anyone not knowing him well, would probably say he is punishing himself. But that is not true... at least not entirely. What he does try, is to analyze. Listen to and look at it time and again and see if Roger had any other chance to react than the way he did. Of course he had... But it is what it is. 

"I... I can explain. I... never wanted this. It was all Rafa's doing. He sort of... forced it. I don't know why."

Rafa has heard the words, has seen Roger's shocked and pained expression that goes so well with him admitting that he has been forced into the rather innocent little kiss shown on the picture the journalist had held up and had asked Roger to comment on, that it is almost believable that he has actually been forced into it. Rafa knows better of course. He knows Roger has regretted his choice of words the second they have left his mouth. But he cannot take them back now... and they both have to live with the consequences. 

All hell had broken lose after that fateful statement Roger had made when pressed for an answer. Rafa had still been out on court when Roger had been confronted with the picture and Rafa himself had been completely oblivious. Luckily his team had not been. Though it hadn't exactly been a blessing. Yes, they had shielded him from the press and had insisted he not go to his own post-match press conference. But they hadn't exactly been subtle or restrained. They had wanted to know about the picture, had wanted to know about Roger's take on the events. Presumably to get a better chance for a useful press statement. But Rafa was anything but stupid. He had known right there and then they were just being nosy. And he hadn't answered them. He had withdrawn from them... and the tournament. 

It is mainly because he doesn't know how to react. Of course Roger's reply had both hurt and stunned him. But there was a much simpler reason why Rafa hadn't wanted to talk to anyone – his team especially. He had seen the picture but he can't – for the life of him – remember when and where it has happened. The background is non-descriptive and it's probably not important to anyone anyhow. All people seem to care about is him and Roger kissing... Somewhere, someday that Rafa can't remember. And it has cost them – dearly. 

He is hiding right now, hiding from the world, from the press, from fans - his and Roger's alike who have caused an internet shit storm of monumental proportions. He is hiding from friends and family too, because none of them have known. And above all he is hiding from Roger. He can't face the Swiss. Not now - possibly not ever. Roger has hurt him, Roger has caused him a great deal of trouble. But above all Roger has... renounced him, has told press and fans and everybody else interested in the matter that he and Rafa are nothing more but lose friends, doing the same thing they love for a living. 

He has denied their relationship even existed and he has insinuated that simple, innocent kiss - that they have had the misfortune of having been found out about - had been solely Rafa's doing and Roger had not only not wanted it, but had been forced into it. He has denied them any chance at ever being a couple again. And he has denied them a chance at a proper coming out. These are their lives after all and – with their professional careers more behind them than in front of them – not anybody else's interest or responsibility. But Roger has denied that also.

Rafa can't bring himself to actually blame or hate the Swiss. He knows Roger has a wife and a family to protect. Mirka knows of course, but explaining this whole mess to the kids... Difficult is not even beginning to describe how things would be for Roger had he admitted to the truth. But still it doesn't give him the right to put the whole responsibility... and blame for this on Rafa's shoulders. They are both equally in this relationship. Or so Rafa thought.

He is at home now, has withdrawn from the tournament in Indian Wells that is going on right now and at which he had reached quarter finals already when this whole mess had started. But there hadn't been any scenario in which he could have stayed. People were acting like he was a damn sex offender and a cheat and a person who liked to break proper families apart on top of it all. In one word – people were treating him unfairly and staying in California, close to Roger AND his family, only would have made matters worse. 

Mallorca is like a literal fail-safe for him. Being back on his home island makes him feel protected to some extent... as long as no friends or family members come to talk to him. Chances for that are slim though. He is out on his yacht and apart from cell reception there is no chance for anyone to contact him. Even that seems too much to Rafa right now, but he doesn't want to risk going too far off the grid. He is an internationally recognized athlete after all. He has responsibilities... 

Though some – if not most – of them are probably obsolete by now. He can already see sponsors jumping the sinking ship that is the brand Nadal... It's the 21st century but two guys kissing – especially two high profile professional athletes - seems to be a big, big deal. Or maybe not. After all Rafa hasn't just kissed any athlete. He has kissed Roger. A husband and father of four. A family man who claims Rafa has forced himself on him... How anyone could ever believe that is beyond Rafa. Do people know nothing about him? The rhetorical question alone causes a bitter snort to escape his lips. Of course they don't. Barely anybody knows him truly. Roger does... and still the Swiss has decided to hurt him and leave him hanging, despite the feelings they share for one another. Roger has abandoned him and has focused on his own personal gain and safety...

His phone vibrates and Rafa sighs. He has no idea how many times the damn phone has rung or vibrated today, but he is about ready to throw the damn thing overboard and finally have his peace and quiet. But he can't. He knows that. So instead he takes a look at it and his sigh deepens. It's Roger trying to call him. It's the sixteenth call the Swiss has tried to place today. The other 15 have all gone to voice mail. Rafa looks at the phone a moment longer, than puts it aside, display facing down. The call goes to voice mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be a prologue to a longer story if you wanted it to be. Just let me know in the reviews. It might take a while, as I am currently finishing up two other stories but if enough people are interested in 'the whole story' to the one shot, I'd be willing to write it. I'd be happy for a co-author too, if anybody's willing. Just let me know. Otherwise this is a standalone... Bottom line – you get a chance for an M/M romance/hurt/comfort-story. Take it or leave it.


End file.
